#ambulance bearer

[testormblog]

Uncle George

Mother didn’t like Uncle George, her brother-in-law.  Neither did she like his wife, Aunty Agnes, my paternal aunt.  She was jealous of their nice house and car as well as George’s prominence in the community.  They were financially better off than us; both having stable jobs.  That said, their jobs were physically demanding.  Agnes was the cleaner at the local high school, which was quite large, and George, the senior ambulance bearer for Beenleigh and its rural surrounds.

George was an unusual man, who was quietly and politely spoken.  At that time, ambulance bearers tended to have been Army stretcher bearers in the war.  These men were well accustomed to the gory rawness of life.  This wasn’t the case with George.  He didn’t serve on the battlefield.  Instead, he worked for the Railway during the war.  He came from a humble background where his forebearers were fishermen.  He had no medical training before he became a volunteer ambulance driver and had only a primary school education.  Yet, he possessed the intellect and a keenness to learn about medicine from the doctors he worked with.  He also showed genuine compassion to those in his care.  In 1947, he became a permanent ambulance bearer and would serve as one for many years.  He was respected by all and knew everybody from his annual door knock to collect ambulance contributions.  They came to him for first aid, and he to them, when they couldn’t come.

He was a stoic kind of man.  He saw the beginning, the pain and the passing of life.  He collected the dead for the coroner.  At times, this was a gruesome task; especially when people died in horrific vehicle accidents.  The combination of speed, alcohol, lack of seat belts and unsafe vehicles made these a regular occurrence.  Often the first on the scene for these and for suspicious deaths, he appeared in court as a witness for inquests and trials.  As his medical knowledge grew, he also served as a mortuary attendant and performed the physical dissections for the autopsies conducted by the government appointed doctor.  This doctor tended to be squeamish about such tasks.

Despite Mother’s opinion, I liked Uncle George very much.  He patched me up with his gentle hands and a smile no matter what scrape I found myself in.  Sometimes, Nana took me along to visit her daughter, Aunty Agnes.  If George was between call outs, I hung around with him.  My cousins, being much older, were elsewhere.

George taught me so much about humanity.  He said, ‘A person should have a purpose in life and be of service to their community.  One’s standing is worth more than all the wealth they might acquire in their lifetime.’

One day, being ever inquisitive, I accompanied him across the road from his house to the morgue.  The building had two large barn doors that opened to the road to which the ambulance and the undertaker’s hearse reversed up to.  Inside were some metal tables, locked cabinets containing instruments along the wall, a fixed hose reel and two large white enamelled wash tubs.  Its floor was tiled.  There was no refrigerated chiller.  The claimed bodies were swiftly collected by the funeral director.  The unidentified ones were promptly transferred to the State Coroner in Brisbane.  The unclaimed others were buried by the local council in paupers’ graves.  The morgue was strictly an ‘in and out’ transit facility.  I stood at the door, afraid to enter.  I didn’t like the smell of formaldehyde.  George looked around for something as if we were in his back shed.

‘Ah, there it is,’ he said.  He removed a sheet from a small bench like thing.  It was Aunty Agnes’ ironing board.  I looked at him quizzically.  He replied, ‘There were too many bodies from the road crash, the other night.  I needed an extra table to lay a smaller one on.’

I questioned Uncle George about death and if he minded looking after deceased people.

He firmly believed the dead deserved as much respect, if not more, than the living.  The living still had a chance to earn it.  Being a devout Christian man, he explained, ‘Death is just the finish of a person’s physical life.  Their soul returns to God and their body becomes a mere shell.  The dead can’t tidy up after themselves; somebody else has to do it.  This is the practicality of everybody’s existence.’

I then asked him if he believed in ghosts like my mother did.

‘No, Lad!’ he exclaimed.  ‘If I did, I’d be haunted by all the people, who died in front of me.  People are haunted by the wrongdoing they’ve done to the deceased.  If you always act with good intentions towards others, you’ll never be haunted by anything.’

Uncle George laughed then to change the mood.  ‘Jakob, when you’re old enough, go dancing.  Life is for dancing and music.  I can see you dancing with lots of pretty girls.’  He loved to dance even if he was wearing his ambulance uniform.  Sometimes, he’d take a few spins around the ballroom when he was rostered for duty at the country dances.  He also loved to play a jolly jig on his piano accordion.

George’s lessons would be very formative later in my life.  In his winter years, he’d be very proud of the man I’d become.  As a man advancing in years myself now, I deeply respect my uncle for who he was and his capacity to care for others during the worst times of their lives.

[major-mads]

Chapter 1: Welcome to Thorpe Abbotts

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: Ruth has been living in my head for months now, and I'm so so so excited to share her with y'all! This series is Jess (footprintsinthesxnd) and I's brainchild. Our ideas just seamlessly fit tegether, and here we are! We actually wrote this first chapter a week before the 26th, so if anything happens to almost exactly match the show, we came up with it before we saw it on there! (we're just good like that 😎)

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 5.3k

The hum of the engine was the only sound in the C-47 as it soared over the English countryside. The patients had finally settled, and the morphine finally took effect and brought them some sense of relief. Hope slumped back into her seat with a sigh, smiling over at Ruth who looked as exhausted as she was. 

“You looked tired,” Hope smiled at her friend who just sighed.

“It’s been a long day. I can’t wait to get back to base,” Ruth pushed her short blonde hair out of her eyes, sighing again. 

“Hey Frank, how much longer have we got,” Hope called to one of the pilots.

“We’ve had to make a detour, doll. We’re heading to Thorpe Abbotts airfield and will evacuate the wounded to Thorpe St. Andrews Hospital. It’s not far now.” 

Hope felt her heart flutter, her throat drying as she slouched back against her seat. 

“Hey Hope, what’s wrong?” Ruth leaned forward, gripping Hope’s hand and squeezing it, her large blue eyes filled with worry. 

“It’s Hugh,” Hope muttered, her eyes a little teary but a smile on her lips nonetheless. “My brother is stationed at Thorpe Abbotts with the 100th Bomb Group. I haven’t seen him in so long.” 

Ruth’s concerned frown turned to a smile, “So I’m finally going to meet this Hugh I’ve heard so much about.” 

Hope laughed, patting her friend on the back gently, “You will, but don’t get any ideas.” 

The aircraft soared towards its destination, and the occasional jolting and shaking on the metal bird brought no fear to the flight nurses anymore. Once, the ratting metal coffin struck the fear of God into them but now this was a peaceful ride.

Hope watched out the window as the lush, green countryside grew closer and closer. 

“Hey, Frank! Stop hugging the hedgerows for crying out loud. Don’t let the girl down before we’ve reached the field,” Hope called, grimacing as the trees seemed to grow ever closer.

“Who’s flying this bird, Armstrong? You or me?” Frank retorted, not looking away from the cockpit.

“Well, maybe you could use some lessons in keeping the old girl airborne then. We’ll beat up the airfield at this rate.” 

Ruth laughed, watching Hope argue with the pilot once more, “You know Hope, maybe you should have gotten your wings. Then you could be flying us instead of Frank.” 

“You’ve got a good point there, Ruth. Ya hear that Frank, Ruth wants me flying instead of you.” 

Frank’s reply was a muffled curse, and both girls found themselves giggling in response. The plane tooled along for a while longer until it finally began to descend, rattling as it lost altitude and shaking its victims vigorously. The wheels touching down on the tarmac filled everyone with great relief. 

“Well that was one ropey landing, Frank. Maybe I could give ya a few lessons?” Hope asked politely, batting her eyelashes at the pilot who just huffed.

“Shove off, Hope. Now get to it, your blood wagons are waiting.” 

Hope cringed at the nickname the ambulances had been given, they were lifesaving vehicles transporting sick men, why make it sound so ominous? 

Hope hopped down from the plane, instructing the stretcher-bearers on which soldiers were in the worst condition. Between them, Hope and Ruth helped carry three wounded men to the ambulances when an obnoxiously loud voice called, “Well, I’ll be damned!” 

Hope spun round, her boots scuffing at the earth. 

“HUGH!” Her brother laughed jovially, jogging over to them. 

“Gosh, I’ve missed you, Little Bird,” Hugh threw his arms around Hope’s shoulders, nestling his head into her neck as he always did. Hope couldn’t comprehend what was happening. She was finally in her brother's arms, finally reunited with him after so long. She gripped tightly onto the back of his uniform, burying her face in his chest. He smelt of smoke and engine oil just like he did back home. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” she murmured, just loud enough for Hugh to hear as he tightened his grip on her further. She could feel Ruth hovering awkwardly behind her and she turned to greet her friend, pulling out of her brother's arms.

“Ruth, this is my brother, Hugh. Hugh, this is my friend, Ruth.” 

Ruth smiled sweetly, sticking out her hand to shake Hugh’s but instead, he pulled her into a bear hug.

“Any friend of Hope’s is a friend of mine,” he assured Ruth and she smiled, her cheeks turning a deep red at the embarrassment of the situation.

“Hugh, put her down. Look, you're making the poor girl blush,” Hope laughed, which only caused Ruth to blush harder. 

“My apologies Ruthie, where are my manners,” he bowed, taking her hand and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. 

“Oh, uh- nice to meet you.” Ruth stumbled over her words, quickly using the excuse that she needed her flight jacket as an excuse to return to the plane.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” Hope groaned, shoving her brother playfully in the ribs. 

“I don’t know, I’ve always considered myself rather charming,” Hugh protested, puffing out his chest in pride. 

Hope nodded, spinning around to call Ruth to join them. The blonde soon was walking back toward the group, now wearing her fleece aviation jacket, and to her relief, without a rosy dusting on her cheeks. 

“I still can’t believe out of all the airfields in England, you managed to land at this one,” Hugh laughed, throwing an arm around both girls' shoulders. “You two are in for a real treat.” 

As they walked through the base, Hugh pointed out the various hard stands. 

“See, right there,” he pointed at a few heavies. “That’s “Just-a-Snappin’, Our Baby, and the M’lle Zig Zig.”

“Where do you guys get these names, Hugh?” Hope laughed, her eyes trailing over each one’s elaborate nose art, along with some very proud-looking engineers and artists who had clearly put so much love into the bombers.

Shrugging his shoulders, Hugh sighed, shaking his head. “I couldn’t tell ya. What’s your plane named?”

“Just the Angel of Death,” Hope chirped.

Hugh stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. “Always with the dark humor, aren’t you, Hope.”

After hearing so much about the man from Hope, Ruth felt as if she’d known Hugh for years when in reality she’d only known him for a few minutes. She knew the stories of how the siblings played in the woods of Columbia, Missouri, exploring the famous rock bridge that brought hikers and tourists into the town. She knew of his love for the St. Louis Cardinals, and how he wore his battered and dirty Dizzy Dean jersey for a week straight after they won the World Series in ‘31 and ‘34. Maybe he’d heard so much about Ruth from Hope that he felt the same way. 

‘It would make sense based on his initial reaction.’ she thought, absentmindedly reaching up and grabbing the small pendant hanging from her neck, running her fingers over its smooth edges.

Before they knew it, the trio reached their destination: his officer nissen hut. They were long semi-circular metal huts, not known for their warmth or comfortability, but they were a soft place to land at the end of the day…which is a lot more than most young men of the time could say. 

“Welcome to my humble abode, ladies,” he announced as they neared the building, holding out his arms in a ‘ta-da’ motion. “She’s not much, but she’s home.”

He began to open the door for them, but a voice in the distance stopped him.

“Charlie! No girls in the huts,” the voice called. “I told you that a few weeks ago.”

Turning toward the voice, Hope did a double take when she saw who its owner. Approaching them was a tall, tan, brunette, who wore a bomber jacket with his hair messily combed to the side. He walked with a swagger that instantly put a bad taste in Hope’s mouth.

She sighed to herself, thinking, ‘Why do all the cute ones have to be cocky?’ 

Hugh groaned, pointing at Hope. “Buck, come on, this is my-” 

The man finally reached them, and Hope stopped herself from being captivated by his blue-green eyes.

“I don’t care who she is. You know the rules,” he interrupted, turning to the girls. “Sorry girls, but I think it’s time for you to go.”

Ruth cringed and side-eyed Hope, already expecting a snarky response to his comment. 

“Well,” she paused, checking her watch for effect. “Seeing as we have patients in the infirmary, it actually isn’t time for us to go.”

It was then that he looked down at her upper arm, taking in the bright red and white medic band that adorned her uniform. Ruth could see the slightest show of remorse in his expression as his eyes rose back up to Hope’s. 

“My apologies, ma’am. I didn’t know-”

Hope didn’t let him finish, cutting him off. “Maybe you should know all the facts before you make an assumption, Buck.”

“Hope!” Ruth hissed, trying to placate her friend, but the woman ignored her.

“See, other than my brother, this is why I can’t stand airmen. They’re cocky-”

Realizing the flaw in Hope’s argument, Ruth ran a hand down her face, secondhand embarrassment filling her. Just when she was about to interject, Buck beat her to it.

“Now hold on. Maybe you should know all the facts before you make an assumption, sweetheart.”

Hope’s mind ran rampant with frustration, and she stared up at him with contempt as he smiled cheekily at her. His eyes were locked on hers as they had a stare-down, neither wanting to be the first to give in. 

“So,” Hugh cleared his throat in an attempt to break their silent battle. “Let me introduce you guys. Ladies, this is my squadron commander, Major Buck Cleven.”

Buck tilted his head slightly, not breaking eye contact with Hope. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she replied dryly.

Ruth shook her head and sighed, amazed at her fellow nurse’s childlike stubbornness.

“And Buck, this is my sister, Hope, and her friend Ruth. They’re flight nurses with the 806th MAETS.”

Ruth raised a hand and waved with a quiet, “Hello,” and Hope felt a little satisfaction when the man’s eyes widened at the word sister. 

Buck’s eys left Hope for a moment to acknowledge Ruth, who stood beside her, with a nod and a smile. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“You, too, Major,” she responded with a small grin. He then turned back to Hope.

“So, you’re the infamous little sister we’ve all heard about?” Buck chuckled, placing his hands on his hips.

The woman glanced over at Hugh, who wore a guilty expression. “All good things, I hope.”

“For the most part,” Buck chimed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know about your little escapade to Kansas City, and how–” 

Hope’s eyes widened in disbelief that her brother had divulged her most embarrassing moment. “Hugh!!” she cried, smacking his chest. “You lying piece of crap! You promised!”

“It’s not like I thought you’d ever meet anyone here, Hope!”

Composing herself, she took a deep breath and sent Buck a tight-lipped smile. “It looks like you know a lot more about me than I do about you, Major.”

“It would seem so, Nurse Armstrong.”

As Ruth amusedly listened to Gale and Hope’s banter, she felt like she was being watched. Glancing around the group, her heart skipped a beat as her eyes met another set of icy blues, ones that were new to the group. 

‘How did I miss him walking up?’ she wondered.

Their gazes locked for a few seconds that seemed to last minutes, and a shudder ran through her. Breaking from his stupor, he quickly looked away with a light pink dusting on his cheeks. Ruth felt her own blush creeping up her neck and wrapped her flight jacket closer to her body, the English chill suddenly getting to her. 

Her eyes seemed to have a mind of their own as they fought to return to the handsome stranger. It took all her willpower to keep them on Hugh, who was talking to the group.

“I can’t imagine going up without weapons on board. We’ve got 12 50-cal brownings and sometimes I feel that’s not enough.”

The battle within herself became too much, and Ruth finally gave in to her temptation. Her eyes flitted over to the man, and she silently sighed in relief when she found his gaze elsewhere. It was then that she discovered her first assumption of the man being ‘handsome’ was an understatement. He had a strong and well-defined jawline, expressive and striking blue-grey eyes, a straight nose, and a slightly curved lip, which held a pencil-thin mustache.

She liked the mustache.

He wore a crooked crusher cap and a white fleece-lined flying jacket that looked somewhat dirty, accompanied by his brown service top poking out at the jacket collar.

Ruth was mesmerized by the man, and she didn’t even know his name. A wide grin broke out on his face as he engaged in the group’s conversation, his upper lip curling up, allowing a few teeth to peek out the top, and Ruth felt her stomach lurch for the second time in a short few minutes. 

Focus, Ruth. Focus.

An elbow to her side broke her stare, and the group’s eyes were suddenly on her as Hope looked at her expectantly. 

“What?” Ruth asked, looking like a deer in headlights.

“I said that we would go insane without each other up there.”

“Oh,” she sighed with a small smile. “You would probably kill Frank if I weren’t there.”

The group broke out in laughter, and Ruth found her eyes absentmindedly moving to the mystery man. As he chuckled, his eyes wrinkled at the edges, and his full smile revealed a dazzlingly straight set of pearly whites. His loud laughter was infectious, and a few giggles escaped her mouth. 

As the group’s chuckles started to die down, Hope looked over at Ruth. She took in her friend’s shy smile and blush, then followed her gaze to the airman across the circle. Realizing what was happening, she nudged Ruth lightly, a teasing eyebrow raised.

“What?” Ruth grumbled under her breath, leaning closer to her friend’s ear as the guys carried on the group’s conversation. 

“You like him.”

The blonde’s smile fell and heat rushed up her neck. “Who?”

Hope tilted her head incredulously, rolling her eyes. “You know who.”

“No, I don’t,” she defended, 

“He’s staring,” Hope grinned, nodding his direction subtly. 

Ruth’s eyes rose to his, and sure enough, his striking eyes were gazing into hers yet again. This time, however, he didn’t look away. The corner of his lips quirked up into a barely noticeable grin, and she felt as if she was shrinking under the intensity of his gaze.

“Uh, I need to go check on the patients,” she sputtered, pointing her fingers in the direction of the infirmary. With a curt nod to Hope, she quickly turned and started toward the infirmary, her blonde curls bouncing with each step. A few seconds later, she spun to face the group and called, “But it was…uh…nice to meet y’all.”

Hugh didn’t miss a beat and hollered back his reply. “You, too, Ruthie!” He then paused until she was out of earshot. “She alright?” 

“She’s fine,” Hope sighed, used to her friend’s more timid personality. She had hoped that over time, her extroversion would rub off on the nurse, but so far, she had no such luck. Ruth was more of a one-on-one person, not one for groups of people unless she knew them pretty well. It seemed the smaller the group got, the more Ruth seemed to come alive. It was like pulling teeth to get Ruth to agree to go out with the other girls of the unit, but when she finally stepped out of her comfort zone, she usually had a good time filled with friends, fellas, and amazing big band music.

Ruth’s admirer joined the conversation, and Hope smirked, watching his eyes follow her friend. “How far away is your base?” 

“We’re in Berkshire, so by car, it’s about three hours, but by plane, probably 45 minutes.”

“So not far,” he chimed, raising his eyebrows and nodding to himself. Before anyone else could comment, he spoke again. 

“See you boys later,” he said absentmindedly as he watched Ruth’s figure go around a corner. Clapping Buck’s shoulder, he set off and followed the nurse’s path around the corner, missing the raised eyebrows and confused expressions sent his way. All eyes followed him as he, too, disappeared around the corner.

Hope pursed her lips at the new development, unsure of the man following Ruth. “Should I be worried?”

“Yep,” Hugh confirmed with a curt nod.

Buck hit him on the chest, chuckling under his breath. “Johnny’s a good man, darlin’.”

Hugh suppressed a snort thinking of the commander’s wild habits and how Buck didn't exactly answer her question.

“Anyways, back wh-”

And just like that, the conversation continued, and Hope had a strange feeling of contentment being on base. Finally being with family again.

As Ruth briskly made her way around the nissen huts to the infirmary, her heart continued to beat rapidly in her chest, and her mind replayed his smile non-stop. 

Get it together, Ruth!

When she finally reached the infirmary, she stopped at the door, taking a deep breath to gain some composure. Within seconds of opening the heavy door, the base’s head surgeon approached her, wiping his hands with a rag.

“Hello,” he greeted. “I’m Captain Emory Kinder, and I’m assuming you’re one of the flight nurses who landed earlier?”

Ruth wore her signature toothy grin and nodded. “Yes, sir. Ruth Morgan. My other half is visiting with her brother as we speak.”

“Brother?”

“Yep, Hugh Armstrong,” she replied, her smile widening as his face lit up.

“Charlie! Oh yeah, I know him. He’s been in here for a few hangovers after a rowdy night in Dickleburgh.”

“Really?” Ruth chuckled, picturing the confident young man drunk as a skunk.

“Oh yeah. We love him though. He’s a good one for sure.”

A patient called out to him, and with a nod, he was off, helping the man. Ruth busied herself however she could, bringing airmen water, re-wrapping their bandages, and pretty much anything that would get her mind off the man from earlier. She was inspecting a man’s arm wound when the creaking of the door opening filled the building. Paying it no mind, she kept working, noting how the tissue was already healing. 

“It looks good, Sergeant. You should be back in the air soon,” she said quietly.

His wide-eyed morphine-induced expression looked pitiful, but he managed to mumble out a, “Thank you, ma’am.”

Ruth gathered her supplies and stood to her feet, throwing away the bloody bandages when Emory's voice rang through the air.

“Speaking of rowdy nights in Dickleburgh...Major, what can I do for ya? Is that shoulder giving you problems again?”

“No, Doc,” the newcomer began, his deep voice breaking the relative quiet. “The shoulder’s fine. I just wanted to, you know, come see the boy-men.”

When she turned toward them and saw the white jacket, the roll of bandages fell from her grasp and hit the floor with a thud, rolling a few feet away to the man’s feet. The heat returned to her cheeks in a rush, and her eyes froze on the bandages for a moment, silently cursing the little white bundle. She watched in horror as the man slowly bent down and picked it up, walking toward her as he threw it up in the air and caught it.

“I think this yours,” he said, one side of his lips quirking up into a smirk as he held it out to her.

Raising her eyes from the bandage to his eyes, she prayed her voice would stay steady. “Thank you, sir.”

She took the bandage and tried to remain calm, her free hand raising to run her fingers over the cool metal of her locket.

“John. Major John Egan,” he introduced himself, extending his hand to her. “But you can call me Bucky.”

Ruth’s brows furrowed in confusion as she took his much larger hand and shook it gently. It was surprisingly soft compared to the men she’d treated from the lines.  “Bucky? It’s there another-”

“Yeah,” John chuckled and slowly released her hand, shoving his in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “We call Cleven Buck, too. He hates it, but he deals with it.”

Grimacing playfully, she decided to go out on a limb despite her pounding heart. “Well, I, um, don’t know if I’ll be able to remember who’s who.”

“Oh no,” John tutted, his eyebrows raised and a wide-mouthed smile painting his lips. “We can’t have that. You can call me John, Johnny, whatever you want, doll, but I don’t think you’re going to have a hard time remembering my name.”

“And why would that be, Johnny?”

“Because you’ll see it at the bottom of each letter you’ll get from me.”

The blonde froze, dropping her necklace in disbelief as she swallowed thickly.

‘There is no way he just said that,’ her mind repeated. ‘There is no way he just said that.”

Pushing through her reserved personality and the tingling sensation swirling in her stomach, she decided to take a page from Hope’s book.

“What makes you think I’d let you write me, hotshot?”

Her mind went haywire. ‘‘Why did I just say that? I’m never taking Hope’s advice again. This is too stressful.’

For the first time in their interaction, his confident bravado seemed to fade and he didn’t quite know what to say. Perhaps he was always used to women giving in to his advances easily, but Ruth was not just another woman begging to be wooed. Johnny stood before her with furrowed brows, his upper lip sticking out slightly. He pushed back his jacket and placed his hands on his hips, his head ducking to the floor.

“Because I’d like to get to know you,” he replied earnestly, taking off his cap. “You’re gorgeous, and I would like to write you, Ruth.“

That was the last thing she expected.

In that moment, Ruth Morgan had a decision to make. Was she going to reject the airman or give him a chance? She knew she was attracted to him and there was chemistry there, but was she willing to put herself out there? The timid parts of her personality screamed at her to tell him no, but the parts that Hope had influenced were urging her to accept his offer. In the end, Ruth already liked Johnny, and she saw the sincerity in his statement as a deciding factor in the matter.

“Alright, you can write to me,” she answered quietly, pushing her hair behind her ear.

John watched as she walked to the infirmary desk and got a sheet of paper, scribbling down what he expected to be her address. He took in her features, just like he had earlier. Starting at her light blonde hair, his gaze traveled down her face to her familiar blue eyes, down her adorable nose, to her lips, which were pursed slightly as she concentrated on writing down her information. She was stunning, and Johnny knew that he wanted to see her again just from their short conversation.

Approaching him again, she held up a slip of paper, a toothy grin on her lips. “This is sensitive information, Major. It better not end up in enemy hands, and that includes your fellow airmen.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded once before fake saluting her, unable to keep his excitement inside. “Mission understood.”

“But just to be safe, I’m going to hold onto it for a little bit.” she leaned a little closer to him, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Just in case I, you know, change my mind.”

John grinned down at her and yet again raised his eyebrows as he nodded. Ruth noticed he did that a lot. “I’ll be on my best behavior, scout’s honor.”

Sliding the slip into her pocket, she started her nursing tasks once again, looking at him over her shoulder. “So, you were in the Boy Scouts?”

“No,” he chuckled, putting back on his cap as he moved next to Ruth to help. “I wasn’t, but Buck was. He ended up being an Eagle Scout before he aged out. One of the best in Wyoming, he says, but I don't buy it.”

He stood a good 5 or so inches above her, so his chin was at her eye level. In the small area at the nursing station, his shoulder was just barely pressed against hers as they both worked to roll bandages, and Ruth could feel the warmth radiating from his touch.

“It seems like you know each other pretty well,” she stated, looking up at him briefly.

His concentration remained on the bandage in his hands as he spoke. “Yeah. He’s my best friend.”

“How long have you known each other?” She asked, reaching up to mess with her necklace.

“We both joined up in ‘40 and were roommates in basic. Been together ever since.”

“That reminds me of Hope and I, although we haven’t known each other for nearly that long.”

John placed the finished bandage in the basket and turned to face her, leaning a hip against the counter as his earnest expression returned. “War makes people closer. Makes ‘em realize who’s important. What’s important.”

The blonde mirrored his stance, taking in his words. He was right. War did have a way of bringing people together. She gazed up at him with a shared understanding of how something as terrible as the war had brought out the best and worst in people, as well as brought people into their lives for the better. The pair’s eyes remained locked for a few moments, both realizing that perhaps there was something deeper than the flirting between them. His warm eyes seemed to search hers, and to her surprise, she didn’t feel nervous in that moment. Johnny’s gaze was like a warm blanket enveloping all of her senses to the point that all she could see was him.

“I feel the same way,” Ruth finally answered, fixing a stray curl that had fallen into her eyes.

Half of his lips curled up in a grin and he took a step toward her. “Ruth, I-”

The loud opening of the door jolted them from the moment, sending both their heads in the direction of the entrance. There stood an out-of-breath Frank, whose face was bright red and shimmering with sweat.

“Ruth! Do you know how long I’ve been looking for ya?” He cried, approaching them quickly.

Unsure of the man’s intentions, Johnny straightened and moved just barely in front of her, holding out a hand towards Frank. “Woah, buddy.”

Although it was an endearing effort, she couldn’t hold in a loud giggle at Frank’s offended expression that followed. “No, Johnny,” she laughed, gently lowering his hand.  “This is our pilot, Frank. Frank, this is Major John Egan. What is it?”

The pilot’s eyes flicked between Ruth and Johnny for a few seconds before he sighed. “I’ve filled the Angel up and it’s time to go. Find Hope and meet me back at the plane.”

Just like that, he was out the door again, probably to get ready for takeoff. Ruth’s heart sank at the realization that she was having to leave. It seemed he also came to the same conclusion as he turned toward her and sighed. 

“Looks like you’ve gotta go,” he said softly, slightly tilting his head to the side as he peered down at her. 

The nurse looked at the door, then lowered her gaze to her feet. “It sure does.”

She almost gasped in surprise when something warm grasped her hand gently. Her eyes shot up to John’s hand that held delicately held hers. The contact sent a tingle up her arm and seemingly straight to her mind, muddying her thoughts. 

“I'd like to see you again,” he murmured where only she could hear.

This quieter, softer version of him was unknown to Ruth, but she knew instantly that she liked the duality of Johnny. 

The blush she’d resisted finally won and dusted her cheeks as she looked up at him. “I’d like that, too.”

John softly tugged her hand closer and bridged the distance between them slowly, his entrancing eyes flicking between her eyes and lips. Ruth could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she stood on her toes to meet him. She felt his warm breath on her face, and her eyes fluttered closed, anticipating the kiss. But before their lips could meet, the door opened again, and Frank called out to her.

“Ruth, come on! You can neck the Major later!”

The door quickly creaked closed.

Heat rushed to Ruth’s face, and she reluctantly pulled back from Johnny, setting her heels back on the ground. Johnny awkwardly stood to his full height, glaring at the door where Frank stood moments before.

“I’ll see you next time, Johnny,” Ruth smiled bashfully, gently squeezing his hand once before dropping it. She walked backward to the door, praying she wouldn’t trip. 

Johnny let out a huff of air as the biggest smile grew on his face. “So there will be a next time?” 

She simply grinned at him, shrugging her shoulders when she turned to open the door. With one last look over her shoulder, she closed the door behind her. 

The infirmary was silent for a few seconds, and then the patients erupted in hollers, cheers, and whistles. 

“Way to go, Bucky!”

“Leave some for the rest of us, Major!”

Amid their uproar, John remembered a crucial detail: She hadn’t given him her address! He took off toward the door, reaching for the handle when it creaked open, revealing a laughing Ruth on the other side. She held out the slip to him.

“I think you behaved well enough, Major.”

“Told you,” he chimed, his eyebrows raising. “Scout’s honor.”

John took the paper from her outstretched hand and watched as she left once again. When the door had slammed shut behind her, he read the note to himself with a wide smile.

Hotshot, 

You can write me at the Grove, Berkshire, Hut 4. I like you, so try not to get shot down before I can return your letter, and I’ll do the same.

Safe Flying,

Ruth Morgan

Johnny shot his hand with the paper into the air, and the men cheered once again. Ruth, on the other hand, was in disbelief of what had just transpired. She had almost kissed him! She wanted to kiss him! Running her hands through her hair, she tried to focus on the task at hand: finding Hope.

Ruth ran around the base like a chicken with her head cut off looking for the woman, and was about to give up when she saw her sitting in a jeep with Buck in the distance.

“HOPE! There you are, I've been looking everywhere. Frank fueled up the plane. We have to go,” Ruth huffed, clearly out of breath from running, but her flushed cheeks, Hope thought, told a different story. 

“Okay, I'll be over in five minutes,” Hope promised, but Ruth didn't look convinced.

“Your five minutes or an actual five minutes?” She asked, and the glare Hope sent her way had Ruth turning around and heading back in the direction she’d come. 

“Okay, but I'll be timing you,” she yelled over her shoulder.

When Ruth looked back to see Hope kissing Buck on the cheek, it occurred to her that maybe there were more trips to Thorpe Abbotts in the cards for both of them.

Tag List: @xxluckystrike @precious-little-scoundrel @bcofl0ve @violetdaze25 @docroesmorphine

message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list!! <3

[geralallfandoms]

Hii I’m not sure if your still taking requests but if you are could you write a mark sloan x reader which involves him protecting reader from something idk is that makes sense 🫶

Hiii! Yes ofc! Hope you like it!! 🫂✨🧚

Requests are open!!

[An unlucky day]

Being a doctor has never been easy. Not only because of everything that had to be studied, the long hours of work, the mistreatment of superiors, or the poor treatment of patients...for you, the most difficult and annoying thing about all of this were the drugged or drunk patients. Most of them did not know where they were or they forgot it all the time, they did not know why they had arrived at the hospital or they deeply denied having consumed anything although their studies will confirm it.They blamed the perfumes, the chocolates that their grandmothers had given them and they didn't know they had alcohol in them, or they tried to make excuses like birthdays, weddings, New Year's Eve or Christmas.

Your 42-hour shift was about to end, there were only 4 hours left and you could return to your comfortable bed. But of course those hours would not be peaceful. It was as if the universe knew you were about to leave, that it decided to send you a bunch of patients together.

"Car crash. Two cars involved. One of the drivers was under drugs. You two, come with me." Bailey said, obviously pointing at you and another resident.

You tried not to snort too hard, you knew that if Bailey noticed, every time a case like this came up, she would call you just because she knows it bothered you.

The ambulance arrived at the same time you finished putting on your gloves. The doors opened quickly and the nurses took out a man in his 50s, unconscious, with a wound on his arm and a couple of bruises and cuts on his face. Bailey, seeing that the man was not in life-or-death conditions, pointed a finger at you, indicating that the patient was yours.

The nurses helped you take him to a more private room, just as another nurse entered.

"Thank you very much, I can so ir alone from here. Could you call Dr. Sloan? His face has a couple of bruises that I want him to see." I asked the nurse who nodded quickly and left the room next to the stretcher bearer, leaving me alone with the patient.

You began to prepare your things, turn on the machines and other things, turning your back to the patient.

And that was the worst thing that you could do.

While you were preparing the needle with tranquilizer to give it to the patient, the man had woken up. And not in the best conditions. He was under substances, in a place he didn't know, tied to a stretcher, with his entire body in pain, with a possible concussion and with someone who was about to prick his arm with something he had no idea what it was.

"Oh-" You said when you saw the he had woken up. But before you could say anything, the man let go of the stretcher and hit your hand, causing the needle to fall to the floor.

"Who the hell are you! Where I am? Let me out!" He screamed as he tried to free himself from his other restraints.

"Sir...calm please, you are in a hospital, you-"

"NO! YOU'RE LYING, YOU DAMN BITCH!" The man yelled before he could completely let go.

When you saw that the man got up from the stretcher, you took advantage of the fact that he was distracted and ran towards the door. Just as your hand had grabbed the door handle, the man grabbed your hair, pulling it back at the same time as you opened the door.

Luckily for you, when the door opened, the first thing you saw was Mark's face.

"Let me out! Let me out or I swear I'll kill them!" The man shouted in your ear as his other arm wrapped around your neck.

The nurse behind Mark quickly ran off in search of more help, as Mark's face contorted on fury.

"Let them go now! You're in a hospital, you can't do these things. Let them go now if you don't want us to call the police." Mark said with a strong voice. Although the reality was that the police would come anyway to arrest him for driving under the influence.

"T-the po-police..." The man said as he backed away. His arm was beginning to let go of you and when Mark noticed it too, he grabbed your arm quickly, pulling you away from the man.

Mark quickly put you behind him. He was much taller and bigger than you, so you had been completely hidden behind him, seeing his big back. The man started screaming again, this time running towards us. Mark was backing away with his hands at your sides, trying to protect you from the man who was trying to grab you again. But the man was able to take Mark's robe.

Seeing how the man and Mark were pulling, you ran to the table, took a needle and filled it with a tranquilizer. once Once you knew it was enough to put the patient to sleep for a few hours, you quickly injected it into his shoulder.

The man turned around quickly, hitting you in the face, causing you to fall sitting on the floor. And just as Mark was about to hit him back, hospital security ran in, arresting the patient.

Once they had him grabbed, and pulled away from the room, Mark quickly approached you, crouching down next to you.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you? What hurts? That fucking son of a bit-" He said as he watched your nose begin to bleed.

"Mark!" You shouted to interrupt him. "I'm fine, really...and you?"

"Your nose is bleeding, probably broken, and your eye is black. Don't tell me you're fine, that bastard ruined your face..." He said seriously as he took a cotton ball and put it on your nose.

"But luckily I have you to fix it, right?" I said while smiling, trying to get him to relax.

"Of course darling..."

__________________________________

I hope you enjoy it! Sorry if something is written wrong, English is not my first language! But let me know!

🫂✨🧚

[herprivateswe]

Outdoor portrait of 74 Driver (Dvr) Jonathan Carr Comyns, 2nd Field Ambulance, of Windsor, Vic. A carpenter prior to enlistment, he embarked from Melbourne on HMAT Wiltshire (A18) on 19 October 1914. Dvr Comyns is receiving a French Croix de Guerre from King George V. According to the recommendation "On the 25 April and following days under very heavy rifle and shell fire rendered conspicuous service collecting wounded on the beach and in gullies. Consistant bravery and great endurance in removing wounded from 8 - 16 May. On 10 May, after other bearers were exhausted he continued to remove wounded single handed.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Chapter 1: Welcome to Thorpe Abbott

Gale Cleven x Hope Armstrong (ofc)

Series Masterlist

This story is based on on the fictional portrayal of these men from the MOTA to series.

Summary: When their plane is diverted to Thorpe Abbott airfield Hope and Ruth’s lives change forever. These two brave nurses must face the trials and tribulations of war, as well as suffering the heartache that war inevitable brings with it.

Collab: A Pair of Silver Wings by @major-mads

The hum of the engine was the only sound in the C47 as it soared over the English countryside. The patients had finally settled, the morphine taking effect and bringing them some sense of relief. Hope slumped back into her seat with a sigh, smiling over at Ruth who looked as exhausted as she was.

“You looked tired,” Hope smiled at her friend who just sighed.

“It’s been a long day. I can’t wait to get back to base,” Ruth pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes, sighing again.

Hope nodded in agreement, peeling her sweaty green overalls away from her neck. “Hey Frank, how much longer have we got?” Hope called to one of the pilots.

“We’ve had to make a detour, Love. We’re heading to Thorpe Abbot airfield and we’ll evacuate the wounded to Thorpe St Andrews hospital. It’s not far now.”

Hope felt her heart flutter, her throat going dry as she slouched back against her seat.

“Hey Hope, what’s wrong?” Ruth leant forward, gripping Hope’s hand and squeezing it, her large blue eyes watching her curiously.

“It’s Hugh,” Hope muttered, her eyes a little teary but a smile on her lips. “My brother is stationed at Thorpe Abbott with the 100th Bomb Group. I haven’t seen him in so long.”

Ruth grinned at her, “so I’m finally going to meet this Hugh I’ve heard so much about.”

Hope laughed, patting her friend on the back, “you will but don’t get any ideas.”

The aircraft soared towards its destination, the occasional jolting and shaking on the metal bird bringing no fear to the flight nurses anymore. Once the ratting metal coffin struck the fear of God into them but now this was a peaceful ride.

Hope watched out the window as the lush, green countryside grew closer and closer.

“Hey Frank! Stop hugging the hedgerows for crying out loud. Don’t let the girl down before we’ve reached the field,” Hope called, grimacing as the trees seemed to grow ever closer.

“Who’s flying this bird, Armstrong? You or me?” Frank retorted, not looking away from the cockpit.

“Well maybe you could use some lessons in keeping the old girl airborne then. We’ll beat up the airfield at this rate.”

Ruth laughed, watching Hope argue with the pilot once more, “You know Hope, maybe you should have got your wings. Then you could be flying us instead of Frank.”

“You’ve got a good point there Ruth. Ya hear that Frank, Ruth wants me flying instead of you.” Frank’s reply was a muffled curse and both girls found themselves giggling in response. The plane tooled along for a while longer until it began to descend, rattling as it lost altitude and shaking its victims vigorously. The wheels touching down on the tarmac filled everyone with great relief.

“Well that was one ropey landing Frank, maybe I could give ya a few lessons?” Hope asked politely, battering her eyelashes at the pilot who just huffed.

“Shove off, Hope. Now get to it, your blood wagons are waiting.”

Hope cringed at the nickname the ambulances had been given, they were lifesaving vehicles transporting sick men, why make it sound so ominous?

Hope hopped down from the plane, instructing the stretcher bearers on which soldiers were in the worst condition. Between them, Hope and Ruth helped carry three wounded men to the ambulances when an obnoxiously loud voice called, “Well I’ll be damned!”

Hope spun round, her boots scuffing at the earth.

“HUGH!” Her brother laughed jovially, jogging over to them.

“Christ, I’ve missed you, Little Bird,” Hugh threw his arms around Hope’s shoulders, nestling his head into her neck as he always did. Hope couldn’t comprehend what was happening. She was finally in her brother's arms, finally reunited with him after so long. She gripped tightly onto the back of his uniform, burying her face in his chest. He smelt of smoke and engine oil just like he always did.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she murmured, just loud enough for Hugh to hear and he tightened his grip on her further. She could feel Ruth hovering awkwardly behind her and she turned to greet her friend, pulling out of her brother's arms.

“Ruth, this is my brother, Hugh. Hugh, this is my friend, Ruth.”

Ruth smiled sweetly, sticking out her hand to shake Hugh’s but instead he pulled her into a bear hug.

“Any friend of Hope’s is a friend of mine,” he assured Ruth and she smiled, her cheeks turning a deep red at the embarrassment of the situation.

“Hugh, put her down. Look you're making the poor girl blush,” Hope laughed, which only caused Ruth to blush harder.

“My apologies Ruthie, where are my manners,” he bowed down, taking her hand and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. Ruth stumbled over her words, quickly excusing herself and hurrying back towards their plane.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” Hope groaned, shoving her brother playfully in the ribs.

“I don’t know, I’ve always considered myself to be rather charming,” Hugh protested, puffing out his chest in pride. “Come on I’ve got some friends I’d like you to meet.”

Hope nodded, spinning around to call Ruth to join. The blonde soon was walking back toward the group, clad in her fleece aviation jacket, and to her relief, without a rosy dusting on her cheeks.

“I still can’t believe all the airfields in England, you managed to land at this one,” Hugh laughed, throwing an arm around both girls' shoulders. “You two are in for a real treat.”

As they walked through the base, Hugh pointed out the various hard stands.

“See, right there,” he pointed at a few heavies. “That’s ‘Just-a-Snappin’, ‘Our Baby’, and ‘the M’lle Zig Zig’.”

“Where do you guys get these names, Hugh?” Hope laughed, her eyes trailing over each one’s elaborate nose art, along with some very proud-looking engineers and artists who had clearly put so much love into the bombers.

Shrugging his shoulders, Hugh sighed, shaking his head. “I couldn’t tell ya. What’s your plane’s name?”

“Just ‘The Angel of Death’,” Hope chirped.

Hugh stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. “Always with the dark humor, aren’t you, Hope.”

After hearing so much about the man from Hope, Ruth felt as if she’d known Hugh for years when in reality she’d only known him for a few minutes. She knew the stories of how the siblings played in the woods of Columbia, Missouri, exploring the famous rock bridge that brought hikers and tourists into the town. She knew of his love for the St. Louis Cardinals, and how he wore his battered and dirty Dizzy Dean jersey for a week straight after they won the World Series in ‘31 and ‘34. Maybe he’d heard so much about Ruth from Hope that he felt the same way.

Before they knew it, the trio reached their destination: his officer Nissen hut. They were long semi-circular metal huts, not known for their warmth or comfortability, but they were a soft place to land at the end of the day…which is a lot more than most young men of the time could say.

“Welcome to my humble abode, ladies,” he announced as they neared the building, holding out his arms in a ‘ta-da’ motion. “She’s not much, but she’s home.”

He began to open the door for them, but a voice in the distance stopped him.

“Charlie! No girls in the huts,” the voice called. “I told you that a few weeks ago.”

Turning toward the voice, Hope did a double take when she saw who its owner was. Approaching them was a tall, tanned blond, who wore a bomber jacket with his hair messily combed to the side. He walked with a swagger that instantly put a bad taste in Hope’s mouth.

She sighed to herself, thinking, ‘Why do all the cute ones have to be cocky?’

Hugh groaned, pointing at Hope. “Buck, come on, this is my-”

The man finally reached them, and Hope stopped herself from being captivated by his blue-green eyes.

“I don’t care who she is. You know the rules,” he interrupted, turning to the girls. “Sorry girls, but I think it’s time for you to go.”

Ruth cringed and side-eyed Hope, already expecting a snarky response to his comment.

“Well,” she paused, checking her watch for effect. “Seeing as we have patients in the infirmary, it actually isn’t time for us to go.”

It was then that he looked down at her upper arm, taking in the bright red and white medic band that adorned her uniform. Ruth could see the slightest show of remorse in his expression as his eyes rose back up to Hope’s.

“My apologies, ma’am. I didn’t know-”

Hope didn’t let him finish, cutting him off. “Maybe you should know all the facts before you make an assumption, Buck.”

“Hope!” Ruth hissed, trying to placate her friend, but the woman ignored her.

“See, other than my brother, this is why I can’t stand airmen. They’re cocky-”

Realizing the flaw in Hope’s argument, Ruth ran a hand down her face, secondhand embarrassment filling her. Just when she was about to interject, Buck beat her to it.

“Now hold on. Maybe you should know all the facts before you make an assumption, sweetheart.”

Hope’s mind ran rampant with frustration, and she stared up at him with contempt as he smiled cheekily at her. His eyes were locked on hers as they had a stare-down, neither wanting to be the first to give in.

“So,” Hugh cleared his throat in an attempt to break their silent battle. “Let me introduce you guys. Ladies, this is my squadron commander, Major Buck Cleven.”

Buck tilted his head slightly, not breaking eye contact with Hope. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she replied dryly.

Ruth shook her head and sighed, amazed at her fellow nurse’s childlike stubbornness.

“And Buck, this is my sister, Hope, and her friend Ruth. They’re flight nurses with the 806th MAETS.”

Ruth raised a hand and waved with a quiet, “Hello,” and Hope felt a little satisfaction when the man’s eyes widened at the word sister.

Buck’s eyes left Hope for a moment to acknowledge Ruth, who stood beside her, with a nod and a smile. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“You, too, Major,” she responded with a small grin. He then turned back to Hope.

“So, you’re the infamous little sister we’ve all heard about?” Buck chuckled, placing his hands on his hips.

The woman glanced over at Hugh, who wore a guilty expression. “All good things, I hope.”

“For the most part,” Buck chimed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know about your little escapade to Kansas City, and how–”

Hope’s eyes widened in disbelief that her brother had divulged her most embarrassing moment. “Hugh!!” she cried, smacking his chest. “You lying piece of crap! You promised!”

“It’s not like I thought you’d ever meet anyone here, Hope!”

Composing herself, she took a deep breath and sent Buck a tight-lipped smile. “It looks like you know a lot more about me than I do about you, Major.”

“It would seem so, Nurse Armstrong.”

Hope trying to change the subject to avoid further embarrassment pointed towards the line of B17s. “Which plane is yours then, Buck?” She raised her eyebrow as if she was trying to challenge him but Buck just seemed amused by the situation and laughed.

“That beauty on the end, Our Baby,” he smiled fondly at it and Hope wrinkled her nose at the ridiculous name. How could grown men go to war in a plane called ‘Our Baby’.

“Well that's stupid,” she blurted out before her brain could catch up with her mouth and she slapped her hand over it with a gasp. She could feel Ruth begging for the ground to open up so she could disappear from the situation, and on the other side of her Hugh just groaned. Buck, on the other hand, just shook his head with a smile.

“Suit yourself. She's a good girl. Never caused any trouble yet.” Hope just wanted the conversation to be over, she and her big mouth had often caused a lot of trouble and just like in Kansas City, she didn't know when to stop.

“Well, I think I'll stick to ‘The Angel of Death’ thank you very much.”

Buck snorted loudly, finding the whole situation rather humorous, including the look on Hope’s face.

“You're C47 is called ‘The Angel of Death’ and yet ‘Our Baby’ is funny,” he cocked his eyebrow, looking at her as though she was a small child who had just told him something unbelievable.

“Yes, she is actually. What's so funny about that?” Hope crossed her arms, glaring at him defensively. This cocky pilot wasn't about to insult their plane and get away with it.

Trying to contain his laughter Buck continued, “Well it's not like you're raining death down on the enemy from that thing, are you? At most, it's a troop carrier.”

Hope opened her mouth in horror, stepping forward, ready to defend their plane's honour at all costs. Buck stepped forward to meet her, their chests almost touching and he leant forward, his breath fanning over her face as he spoke. Hope wasn't sure if her heart rate had increased because of her anger or Buck’s proximity. Hope went to open her mouth again but Buck placed a finger to her lips, silencing her in an instant. His finger remained on her lip for a few more seconds before he remembered himself and stepped back, straining his jacket.

“All I'm saying is your plane isn't exactly an instrument of war. I can't imagine going up without weapons onboard. We’ve got thirteen 50-cal brownings and sometimes I feel that's not enough.”

This time Hope didn't feel the need to comment, still somewhat stunned by Buck’s previous action and why her heart was pounding in her chest.

“Well Buck, congratulations. You're the first man to render my sister speechless,” Hugh laughed, groaning as soon as Hope’s elbow connected with his stomach.

“And my face will be the last one you see if you don't shut up, Hugh,” Hope threatened her brother before smiling sweetly at Buck, who just grinned back at her, enjoying the sibling comradery.

“I could happily live without this idiot but Ruth on the other hand keeps me sane when we're in the air,” Hope ignored her brother's protest and gently elbowed her friend who was unusually quiet behind her.

“What?” The blonde asked, looking over at her like a deer in headlights.

“I said that we would go insane without each other up there.”

“Oh,” she sighed with a small smile. “You would probably kill Frank if I weren’t there.”

The group broke out in laughter and Hope was left wishing that Buck didn’t think she was so violent but he didn't seem phased by the comment.

“No, I can understand that. You need someone you trust when you're up there. That's how I feel about my co-pilot Bucky,” Buck gestured to the sky, a solemn look crossing his face for a moment before it was broken by Hope’s laugh.

“So you're Buck and he's Bucky. Wow you guys really are original,” Hope snorted, normally she would have been embarrassed by the noise leaving her mouth but when Buck joined in laughing, it only caused Hope to laugh harder.

“Don't you start. I get that enough from everyone else,” Buck scolded but the smile on his lips told her he wasn't really upset. Suddenly, Hope noticed the tall dark-haired man had appeared next to Buck, how long he had been lingering there she wasn't sure and it seemed that Buck hadn't noticed him either.

“Speak of the devil. When did you sneak up on me?” Buck questioned, patting the other pilot on the back.

The dark-haired man smiled, his moustache twitching at the corners, “Oh, I've been here the whole time.”

Buck seemed content with his answer and turned back to the group, “Everyone meet John Egan or as he is more commonly known, Bucky.” Hope smiled at him, trying to make a better first impression with this pilot than the previous one.

“Hope Armstrong, it's nice to meet you,” Johnny took her hand and shook it slowly, seemingly preoccupied by something over Hope’s shoulder.

“The pleasure is mine,” Johnny replied, releasing Hope’s hand. Hope thought she noticed Buck tense a little at the interaction but that could have just been wishful thinking.

Hope turned to look over at Ruth. She took in her friend’s shy smile and blush, then followed her gaze to the airman across the circle. Realizing what was happening, she nudged Ruth lightly, a teasing eyebrow raised.

“What?” Ruth grumbled under her breath, leaning closer to her friend’s ear as the guys carried on the group’s conversation.

“You like him.”

The blonde’s smile fell and heat rushed up her neck. “Who?”

Hope tilted her head incredulously, rolling her eyes. “You know who.”

“No, I don’t,” she defended,

“He’s staring,” Hope grinned, nodding his direction subtly and Ruth’s eyes rose to look at him again. Hope watched as the pair made eye contact and Johnny smiled at Ruth, causing a deep red hue to spread across her pale cheeks.

“Uh, I need to go check on the patients,” Ruth sputtered, pointing her fingers in the direction of the infirmary and quickly excusing herself from the group, hurrying towards the infirmary, her blonde curls bouncing with each step. A few seconds later, she spun to face the group and called, “But it was…uh…nice to meet y’all.”

Hugh didn’t miss a beat and hollered back his reply. “You, too, Ruthie!” He then paused until she was out of earshot. “She alright?”

“She’s fine,” Hope sighed, used to her friend’s more timid personality. She had hoped that over time, her extroversion would rub off on the nurse, but so far, she had no such luck. Ruth was more of a one-on-one person, not one for groups of people unless she knew them pretty well. It seemed the smaller the group got, the more Ruth seemed to come alive. It was like pulling teeth to get Ruth to agree to go out with the other girls of the unit, but when she did, she usually had a decent time filled with friends, fellas, and amazing big band music.

Ruth’s admirer joined the conversation, and Hope smirked, watching his eyes follow her friend. “And how far away is your base?”

“We’re in Berkshire, so by car, it’s about three hours, but by plane, probably 45 minutes.”

“So not too far,” he chimed, raising his eyebrows and nodding to himself. Before anyone else could comment, he spoke again.

“I’ll see you boys later,” he said absentmindedly, clapping Buck’s shoulder before disappearing in the direction Ruth had gone. Three confused faces watched as he retreated around the corner. Hope pursed her lips at the new development, unsure of the man following Ruth. “Should I be worried?”

“Yep,” Hugh confirmed with a curt nod.

Buck hit him on the chest, chuckling under his breath. “No, Johnny’s as responsible as they come, darlin’.”

Hugh suppressed a snort, thinking of the commander’s wild habits.

“Anyways, back wh-”

And just like that, the conversation continued, and Hope had a strange feeling of contentment being on base. Finally being with family again.

The conversation flowed easily and it felt as though she and Hugh had known Buck their whole lives. She was about to tell Buck the story of how Hugh had gotten on the wrong train and ended up heading to California when a loud shout came from behind them.

A dark-haired pilot, also sporting a moustache, was waving at them, “COME ON CHARLIE!” He hollered, waving at Hugh.

“Jeez, sorry Hope, I've got to run, I promised Curt I'd help him with something. Buck will look after you though, won’t ya, Buck?”

Hope glared harshly at her brother. He knew better than anyone that she didn't need some man looking after her. She was about to protest when Buck spoke up.

“Absolutely. I’ll give her the grand tour, treat her like royalty,” Buck grinned at her, clearly turning on the charm now and Hope sighed.

“Excellent,” Hugh bundled Hope into a quick hug, “It was good to see you again Little Bird. Keep out of trouble okay?”

Hope hugged him back and nodded but stayed silent. It had been so long since they'd been together and now their reunion was so brief. She watched as her brother rushed away towards his fellow pilot, joining instantly in whatever conversation they were having.

“He’s a good man, your brother,” Buck interrupted Hope’s thoughts and this time she couldn't think of a witty reply.

“Yes, he is,” Hope smiled thoughtfully before turning back to Buck, “Did he just call that man Rosie?”

Buck quickly placed his arm around her shoulder, leading her quickly towards a parked jeep, “Again that is a story for another time.”

Hope had to try and control her breathing as the warmth from Buck’s side seeped into her. She hadn't noticed how cold she had gotten standing still and tried to suppress the silver that ran down her spine. Buck looked down at her worriedly, quickly shrugging off his jacket and wrapping her tightly in it, this time his hand coming to rest on her hip, “There we go, can't have you getting sick now can we, Nurse Armstrong.”

As they drove around the base and Buck pointed out all the highlights, Hope decided that there was definitely something appealing about the cocky blond pilot. Despite his apparent big-headedness at first, he was genuinely very sweet. Hope found herself drawn in by his stories of home and his adventures in England, and she found herself wishing that the drive would never end, that maybe they could even drive off the base and escape together. Alas, she knew they couldn't leave their duty and took comfort in knowing that he was only a three-hour drive away, only forty minutes if they flew. She’d have to let Frank divert more often.

Buck pulled into a layby beneath a few trees that lined the road, cutting out the engine of the jeep. Hope looked at him curiously, waiting as though he was going to say something profound.

“Well, what do you think?” He grinned at her, a crooked grin that didn’t show all his teeth but instantly made you smile back.

“Of the base or of you?” Hope retorted and Buck laughed once more.

“You are quite the character, Miss Armstrong, you know that?”

“It may have been mentioned once or twice.”

Buck nodded, clearly enjoying her no-nonsense attitude that often sent men running for the hills.

“Both? Or neither?”

“Are you asking me to hurt your feelings?” Hope laughed, watching as Buck’s eyebrows creased for a second before his face became expressionless once more.

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“HOPE! There you are, I've been looking everywhere. Franks fueled up the plane. We have to go,” Ruth huffed, clearly out of breath from running but her flushed cheeks Hope thought told a different story.

“Okay, I'll be over in five minutes,” Hope promised but Ruth didn't look convinced.

“Your five minutes or an actual five minutes,” the glare Hope sent her way had Ruth turning around and heading back in the direction she’d come. “Okay, but I'll be timing you.”

“I guess this is goodbye,” Buck smiled sadly but Hope just shook her head.

“It doesn't have to be goodbye.” Buck raised his eyebrows, unsure if she was joking or being serious.

“I don't want it to be goodbye,” she added, giving him the most genuine smile he'd ever seen. “Our base isn't too far away and if you want you can write to me. Hugh has my address.” She added curtly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Alright, I will.”

Seemingly pleased by this response, Hope leaned forward and placed her lips against his cheek. Despite the slight layer of stubble, his skin was soft and it had Hope wondering what his lips felt like.

“Goodbye, for now then, Major Cleven.” Hope hopped out of the truck, saluting the pilot.

“Goodbye, for now, Nurse Armstrong.”

Buck watched as Hope hurried across the field after her friend, her hips swaying as she walked, and although Buck appreciated the view he didn't like watching her walk away from him, but he supposed if she never walked away, he’d never see her walking back towards him.

Tags: @georgieluz @malarkgirlypop @docroesmorphine @major-mads @violetdaze25 @bcofl0ve @precious-little-scoundrel @kmc1989

[justinsentertainmentcorner]

Aja Romero at Vox:

One of the things that made Macklemore’s Gaza protest rap “Hind’s Hall” so electrifying when it dropped on May 6 is how unexpected it was. It wasn’t just that Macklemore, who hasn’t really seemed culturally relevant since his notorious Grammy win over Kendrick Lamar a decade ago, was suddenly headline news. It was that no one, relevant or not, seemed to be making protest music anymore, least of all about the Israel-Hamas war. Macklemore’s blistering anthem takes aim at Israel’s brutal assault on Gaza, where more than 34,000 Palestinians have been killed, following the deadly October 7 Hamas attacks. The song comes at a time when student protests around the country are pushing the conflict and America’s role in it to the forefront of cultural debate. Though Macklemore doesn’t have the reputation for political activism that other artists have, it’s not for lack of trying: He’s been producing politically themed music ever since his debut album in 2005.

Macklemore also occupies a rare position: As he himself says in a “Hind’s Hall” verse, his status as an independent artist, as well as a white one, allows him to take a bold political stance. Most artists would risk career-ending repercussions for speaking out, especially about such a polarized subject as Gaza. The post-Trump era has been a fallow period for protest music, though the current revival of campus activism could usher in an adjacent revival for the genre. But if “Hind’s Hall” hints at a return, there are other complicating factors at play when we think about what protest music even means in contemporary America.

Macklemore, surprisingly political

“Hind’s Hall” doubles as a song of support for student protesters across America and as a form of protest against Israel’s Gaza offensive itself. The song title refers both to an informally renamed building at Columbia University, the nexus of student protests there, and to the hall’s namesake, Hind Rajab, a 6-year-old Palestinian girl who was allegedly killed by Israeli troops in January, along with her family. The Israeli military also allegedly killed the ambulance crew dispatched to rescue her.

The first verse takes aim at US police and features footage of student demonstrations all across the country where law enforcement was summoned to disperse the mostly peaceful protests. Macklemore also implies that speech on social media has been suppressed: “You can pay off Meta, you can’t pay off me,” he sings, referring to Facebook’s reported censorship of pro-Palestinian views (Meta has denied that claim). The third verse takes aim at the Gaza conflict itself as well as President Joe Biden’s unwillingness to pressure Israel to change course. “Where does genocide land in your definition?” he asks. “Destroying every college in Gaza and every mosque? Pushing everyone into Rafah and dropping bombs?” — referring to Israel’s military offensive against the city of Rafah, which was supposed to be a safe zone for over a million civilians.

While protest songs experienced a resurgence in the wake of the 2020 Black Lives Matter protests, musical artists have largely stayed silent until now on the subject of Palestine. But while most people know Macklemore mainly from his 2013 hit “Thrift Shop,” a tongue-in-cheek rap glorifying swag finds from Goodwill, he’s not as unlikely a torch-bearer as you might think for this kind of performance. He’s maintained a surprisingly political catalog, starting with his debut album, 2005’s The Language of My World, which included a track called “White Privilege,” years before the concept of white privilege was well-known within the culture. The song addressed Macklemore’s conflicted feelings on the cultural appropriation of hip-hop by white culture, taking aim at everything from white audiences (“White kids with do-rags trying to practice their accents”) to “controlling” music industry corporations and white artists like himself.

Another track on the album, “Bush Song,” was even more overtly political, mocking then-President George W. Bush for everything from bigoted and sexist politics to the economy and war in Iraq. Macklemore’s most notable political move prior to “Hind’s Hall” came with 2012’s “Same Love,” a song that advocated LGBTQ equality and criticized homophobia within hip-hop culture. 2016 saw him return to the theme of racism with “White Privilege II,” a track he recorded with Jamila Woods. The track covers themes of racist police brutality and the 2014 Black Lives Matter protests over the killing of Michael Brown, protests Macklemore himself participated in.

Macklemore hasn’t escaped political controversy in the past, including an incident that complicates his decision to speak out on the Israel-Hamas war. In 2014, he wore the world’s most ill-judged costume during a performance, featuring a bulbous prosthetic nose, a black wig, and fake beard. Macklemore at first called the outfit “random” but eventually apologized for its antisemitism. Macklemore says on the track that anti-Zionism is not antisemitism, but it’s difficult to try to be the one to parse the difference when you’ve previously appeared in this kind of stereotypical getup in public. Still, missteps or not, Macklemore’s status as an independent artist — not to mention a white artist — puts him in a position to take bolder political stances than most artists. Though “Thrift Shop” catapulted him to huge fame, Macklemore primarily used, and still uses, YouTube and social media to reach his core audience. That worked well for “Hind’s Hall,” enabling the track to go viral on Instagram and Twitter before it even landed on streaming services.

[...]

Protest music isn’t what it used to be

We like to think that activism and music have always gone hand in hand, but despite a long legacy of protest music in the US, it’s been decades since we had sustained musical movements of political change and resistance. The ’90s saw plenty of riot grrrls, and the Iraq War generated its fair share of politicized music in response. These days, however, songs like Green Day’s 2004 “American Idiot” or socially conscious rap like Donald Glover’s “This Is America,” 2018’s anti-gun anthem, are rare.

The arguable death knell for protest in pop may have come in 1992, when Ice T’s heavy metal band Body Count released its eponymous debut album, featuring a still-controversial track called “Cop Killer.” The song, which protested racialized police brutality in the era of the police beating of Rodney King, prompted record stores around the country to remove the album from their shelves. It offended law enforcement organizations so much that they successfully pressured Ice T to remove the track and likely influenced Ice T’s label, Warner Bros., to part ways from the rapper at the arguable peak of his success. To this day, authorized versions of the song are difficult to find. “The early ’90s had a lot of really aggressive protest music, and that’s all gone now,” Patch explained in an interview. “And I think a lot of it has to do with the “Cop Killer” case.” He noted that in addition to Warner Bros. severing its contract with Ice T, several other artists lost their contracts in the wake of “Cop Killer” for similar politically incendiary reasons. The backlash created a chilling effect over the entire industry.

Vox takes a look at Macklemore’s anti-Israel apartheid and pro-Palestinian protest song Hind’s Hall and its place in the world of protest songs.

[hyunjinbiased-blog]

Dead Island 2 Incorrect Quotes part 7 featuring Y/N

I found someone

@gamergirl-06

-------------------------------------

(Male Reader)

Amy: If I fall..

Dani : I'll be there to catch you.

Ryan*looks at Jacob* : What if I fall?

Jacob : Then lll fall with you, never leaving your side.

Y/N: *watches these four interactions*

Y/N, to Carla : And if 1 fall?

Carla :I'" be the one who pushed you.

....

(FtM Reader)

Jacob: You were stabbed. Do you remember anything?

Y/n: Only the ambulance ride to the hospital.

Bruno: That wasn't an ambulance, I drove you.

Y/n: But I heard a siren.

Dani: That was Ryan.

Ryan: Sorry, I got nervous

....

(Fem Reader)

Y/N: Why did you get arrested??

Jacob: We don't know!

Bruno: Yeah, we did nothing wrong!

Amy: We got pulled over and and when the officer said, "papers." Jacob yelled,"SCISSORS!" and Bruno drove off.

Y/N :

....

(FtM Reader)

Y/n: I'm kind of crushing on someone, but I'm worried about telling you who it is, because you're not going to like it.

Amy: Just rip the bandage off.

Y/n: It's Bruno.

Amy: Put the bandage back on.

....

(Male Reader)

Y/n: Make no mistake. Not only am party rocking, but 1 am also in the house tonight.

Dani: But are you shuffling?

Y/n: Everyday

Ryan: What language are you two speaking??

....

(Fem Reader)

Amy: Okay, I'm going to get the wedding cake.

Y/n: Perfect, while you do that 1'1l check on the ring bear.

Amy: :

Amy: You mean ring bearER, right?

Y/n:

Amy: Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not going to bring a dangerous wild animal to our wedding.

....

[mybeautifulwifegojo]

I haven't got a title for this yet and it's still very much a rough draft but here is some Writing

Guide/Sentinel AU because I'm trash for this dynamic

~

“Shoko.”

The newly-appointed doctor looked up from writing a report to see her yearmate and best friend leaning heavily on her office door, his eyes squinted behind his dark glasses. He looked miserable.

“Headache’s worse,” Satoru said shortly.

Shoko pursed her lips, frowning, and stood, walking over to place her fingertips against his forehead. He leaned into her touch gratefully, sighing in relief.

“Is it because of the Six Eyes?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Satoru said, eyes already drifting shut. The tension in his forehead and jaw eased as Shoko used her power to pull away the strain of overstimulation, synthesizing it into calm, peace, reassurance. “I think I might be reaching the point where I need to wear a blindfold. Glasses aren’t cutting it anymore; I can see fucking photons now, Shoko-chan. Not all the time, but… often enough.”

“Is that normal?” she asked, shocked. “Being able to see particles and atoms and such?”

“Unfortunately, yes. The older I get, the more I’ll see. The oldest recorded bearer of the Six Eyes gouged them out of her own skull at fifty years old because she couldn’t sleep anymore, even with metal plates sewn into her blindfold. Luckily we don’t tend to live much longer than thirty, so I probably won’t reach that point. For now, I just need more than sunglasses.” Satoru sighed again and hugged Shoko tightly. “Thanks for helping with the headache. Sorry to interrupt you for silly shit.”

“It’s not silly, Satoru.” Shoko returned the embrace, rubbing his back lightly. She could count his vertebrae and feel his ribs through his clothes. “You should be eating more.”

“Not hungry,” he muttered.

“Look, I know it’s only been three years since… but you have to take better care of yourself. Find a Guide you can bond with, maybe. I can help if you want.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Satoru let go, stepped back, hitched on an incredibly fake smile. “I’m fine for now, but thanks for worrying about me.”

Shoko nodded. They’d had this argument enough times before. It wasn’t worth it to push. “Eat more. I don’t care what. Gorge yourself on cake and candy if that’s what it takes. But just… get nutrients into your body. You need the energy. Please, Satoru? For my sake if not your own?”

He scowled, but slumped in defeat and nodded. “Okay. For you,” he agreed. “So you can stop worrying.”

“Thanks. Sleep well, Satoru.”

“You too, Shoko.”

~\0/~

Bright.

Loud.

People. People all over. Too many. Too much danger. Everything… too…

Guide. Close by. Down a quiet street. He had to get to them. That locus of calm, a beacon of safety, a point of rest.

Bright. Loud. Escape, like a wounded animal.

Too bright.

Too loud.

Car coming at ten kilometers an hour, weighing 1,379 kilograms, containing four people with a combined weight of 105 kilograms, steady speed, not deadly but certainly enough to hurt him—no it was not a threat, not a threat, not a threat.

Bright, loud, bright, loud, bright, loud—where was the Guide? He needed—he needed them to—

Here. Here, the Guide was here, in this house. He slapped his palm clumsily against the doorbell. Too loud. He could hear it from outside the door.

The door opened. The Guide stood there.

The Guide… was a tiny child.

He made a small, desolated noise and mumbled, “But you’re a baby,” before he fainted.

~\0/~

Somehow, Yuji caught the strange man as he fell, and yelled frantically over his shoulder, “Grandpa! Grandpa, help!”

His grandfather rushed down the stairs, a dented aluminum baseball bat in one gnarled hand, but froze when he saw that Yuji was supporting the torso of an unconscious man. “Yuji, what—” he began, bewildered.

“I don’t know!” Yuji interrupted. “He just—he just fell, I think he’s hurt, Grandpa we have to call an ambulance!”

Grandpa helped him get the stranger to the sofa, where the old man and the frightened child managed to get him arranged more or less without any twisted limbs. Yuji tried to step away from the stranger, but his hand latched on to Yuji’s wrist, and somehow, Yuji knew that if he broke free, the man would suffer.

“He isn’t bleeding,” Grandpa muttered, inspecting the man suspiciously. “Doesn’t smell like alcohol, either.” Then he noticed how the man was gripping his grandson’s arm, and how Yuji was staring at that scrunched, pained face. “Yuji. Is he one of those special people?”

Yuji nodded, his gaze still riveted on the stranger’s face. This was not the first stranger to seek him out and cling to him, but it was the first time they’d been in such bad shape that they’d passed out. Odd that they always seemed to either wear similar dark uniforms with large brass buttons or be very scary—or, like this man, both at once. But, since he was not the first, Yuji knew what he needed to do.

The ten-year-old boy shuffled closer and put his hands on either side of the strange adult man’s face, ignoring how the man’s arm wrapped loosely around his waist. The man’s breathing was ragged and loud, but steady. He smelled of dry blood, but also expensive cologne, and a little bit like sour candy. Sight, touch, sound, smell… yes, this was enough. Yuji could fix him.

Dad had sung, because Dad had had a good voice and liked music. Yuji recited stories.

“In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit,” he began, keeping his volume low and his tone soft, almost but not quite a whisper. “Not a dirty, nasty, wet hole, full of the ends of worms and an oozy smell; nor yet a bare, dry, sandy hole, with nothing to sit down on or to eat. This hole was a hobbit hole, and that meant comfort.”

He recited the entire first chapter of The Hobbit, word for word, and watched the stranger’s face carefully. The grimace of pain eased away; the furrowed brow smoothed. By the time Yuji reached the end, the stranger was simply asleep. No longer in pain, no longer afraid, no longer lost and confused.

Yuji, however, was exhausted, and felt like he was going to cry. He’d never felt this awful after helping someone. Maybe that was why the man had passed out, though. Yuji removed his hands from the man’s face and backed away, and sat on the coffee table with a thump, like a puppet being dropped.

“I have his phone,” Grandpa said, calling Yuji’s attention. “I’ll call the last person in his contacts. Go to bed, Yuji. You’ve done what you can.”

“No I haven’t,” Yuji said frankly, frowning. “He’s still all torn up inside. I can feel it. Just ‘cause he’s asleep doesn’t mean he’s not still hurt.”

Grandpa smacked Yuji upside the head lightly, making him squeak. “Yes, but you can’t fix everyone, you fool. Go to bed. Rest. You can finish helping him tomorrow before school.”

Yuji sighed, hugged his grandfather tightly, and went to his room. He hoped the man stayed the night. He didn’t like thinking about who might hurt him in his current state.

~\0/~

Shoko frowned at her cellphone. Had Satoru ever called her on a mission? Something must truly be wrong.

“Hey, dumbass, what scrape have you gotten into this time?” she asked as she answered, trying to sound casual. If she answered with worry, he might lie and act like he was fine.

After a strange pause, a very old voice said cautiously, “Are you Shoko?”

Her spine straightened. “That depends entirely on who you are,” she replied coldly, her heart pounding in alarm. “How did you get Satoru’s phone from him?”

“Ah. Well… I am Itadori Wasuke. The owner of this mobile is currently passed out on my sofa. He appears to be ill, but luckily my grandson was able to help him.”

“Ill?” Shoko stood and headed for the door. “Not injured?”

“No, not that I can tell.”

“Your grandson was able to help him, though?” She bit her lip as she tried to think of any sorcerers on the payroll with the last name Itadori… none, none at all. “Is he a Guide?”

“A what?” Wasuke asked blankly. “He just has a knack for calming people down.”

Her heart sank, even as she began to run down the hall to the garage. There was no time for the train, and she had never been good at warping to places she hadn’t been before. “He’s a child, isn’t he? Elementary age.”

“How did you know that?”

“If he were older, he’d be registered. Where is he? Is he alright? If Satoru is passed out, please check on your grandson and make sure that he’s safe. I’ll be in Sendai in a few minutes.”

“You don’t even have our addr—”

Shoko hung up and sprinted the rest of the way. If Satoru had zoned so bad that he’d passed out, something truly awful must have happened. She might have to erase the child’s memory. There was no way an untrained child could pull Satoru of all people from a zone without being damaged.

In the car, Shoko put her phone on speaker and called Ijichi. When he picked up, sounding flustered, she cut across him, “Sorry to bother you, Ijichi-kun, but Satoru zoned, and an unregistered Guide found him. Can you search the Sendai records for an Itadori? They’ll be young, not yet sixteen.”

“Of course, Ieiri-san,” Ijichi replied, all cool efficiency now that he knew the situation. Such a pity that he wasn’t strong enough to be a sorcerer—he kept his head just as well as Nanami, and was twice as tactful. But he was also too good a leader and too incredible at managing to do solo work like sorcery. “Sendai, Itadori, under sixteen. Ah—yes, there is one. A ten-year-old boy. Do you need his address?”

“Please.”

Ijichi rattled it off, and Shoko nodded to herself. That was close to where Satoru’s mission had been. He hadn’t gone far before sensing the Guide. Good. She spared a thought for that poor child, presumably overwhelmed by a strange Sentinel’s zoning; even she couldn’t quite handle Satoru when it got bad, and they were dear friends. She knew that man’s brain better than he did. A little kid, untrained and unknown? She really hoped his grandfather could keep him safe and calm until she got there.

Sendai was far quieter than Tokyo at ten o’clock, but Shoko was still forced to slow down and obey traffic laws. By the time she reached the small, sleepy neighborhood, her teeth hurt from clenching her jaw. Parking on the street, she got out of the car and strode to the door. She could sense Satoru, alright, but… she hesitated, her hand raised to press the doorbell. He didn’t feel zoned. His emotions were calmed… calmer than she’d ever managed to get them.

And the young Guide wasn’t panicking or suffering.

Shoko rang the bell. The door opened in a few minutes, and a tiny old man with a sour expression eyed her critically.

“Itadori Wasuke, I assume?” Shoko asked.

“Yes. He’s still asleep.”

“Good. Your grandson?”

“Also asleep. It’s past his bedtime.”

Shoko frowned, but shook her head. No need to worry if the boy was fine. Satoru was her priority right now. “Alright. May I come in, please? I need to get Satoru back home, and it’ll be easier if I can wake him up.”

“Of course. Please make yourself at home.”

She didn’t really take in the physical appearance of the home, but she did note that the amount of cursed energy was unusually low, and the number of familiar residuals unusually high. She even recognized Mei-san and Utahime-senpai’s signatures, faintly. But overwhelming all of them was Satoru, calmer than he’d been in years, and deeply asleep, sprawled on the sofa.

Shoko knelt next to him, licked her pinky, and stuck the wet digit in his ear.

Satoru jerked awake with a squeal of shock. Shoko ducked his clumsy slap easily, and asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Uh?” Satoru blinked at her, confused. Then his eyes widened, and a look of horror crossed his face. “Oh… fuck. I zoned.”

“Yes, but luckily Itadori-san’s grandkid found you. So--”

“He didn’t.” Satoru sat up, rubbing his face with both hands. “I came to him.”

“...What?”

“I could sense him from across the city,” Satoru said, slightly impatient. “But he’s just a kid. Fuck, is he alright? Did I…”

“He’s fine,” Wasuke interrupted, frowning as Satoru and Shoko both looked at him. “Why are you both so fussed? He’s young, but his father taught him well. This is the first time anyone has sought him out at home, though.”

Shoko bit her lip. Then she asked, “Itadori-san, what do you know about Yuji’s… ability?”

“He inherited it from his father, my son,” Wasuke replied, his frown turning thoughtful. “Jin could calm a crying baby. Yuji can tell what others feel, break through killing rages, and has talked at least three people down from suicide. He’s never been as tired as he was after fixing this one, but he’s bound to have limits. You know more, though.”

“Yes.” Shoko glanced to Satoru. Satoru looked back, made a face, nodded. Shoko turned back to Wasuke and explained, “Yuji is a Guide. Sort of like an empath. I’m a Guide, too, as well as a doctor. It’s highly unusual for a child, especially a young one with no formal training, to be able to pull a Sentinel like Satoru out of a zone without suffering some form of psychological backlash. But… this isn’t the first time he’s done so?”

“No.” Wasuke stroked his chin. “There was that older boy with a scar over his eye and a strange hairstyle, and the woman with blue hair who gave him 600 yen. Lots of people have dropped by the house and told me they’ve met him and wanted to repay his kindness. So far it’s just little things, food and toys and pocket-money; but I am worried for him. He’s too kind. One day he may end up helping someone who won’t be good.”

After a moment, Wasuke asked, “Do you train these… Guides?”

“Not us,” Satoru said softly, “But we graduated from a school that does. We can put in a request that he be considered for enrollment.”

Wasuke nodded, looking relieved. “If you could, I would be grateful,” he said. “Did you want to speak to him? You’ll have to come back tomorrow afternoon; he has school, and I’m not waking him up again.”

“I did, yes,” Shoko said. “May I come by at four?”

While she and Itadori Wasuke discussed when she should come, how long she should stay, and what she should talk to Yuji about (Wasuke insisted Shoko stay for dinner, as thanks for checking on Yuji; Shoko insisted that it wasn’t necessary, any Guide with half a heart would want to make sure he was alright), Satoru put on his glasses and paced the living room, hands in his pockets. When all was decided, the two sorcerers thanked Wasuke and said good night, and left the house. As they were walking to the car, a sleepy young voice called, “Wait! Wass’yer name?”

Shoko turned, surprised, to see a tiny boy with reddish-blond hair and truly enormous eyes hanging out the window, squinting blearily at Satoru. Satoru himself flinched, before hitching on a friendly smile, turning, and answering, “Gojo Satoru. Thanks for your help, Yuji-kun.”

The boy grinned. “You’re welcome, Gojo Satoru,” he replied. “Come back some time! Grandpa makes the best chicken meatballs!”

“I will,” Satoru promised, still smiling.

“Yuji! Get back in bed! You have school tomorrow!”

The boy waved one last time and closed his window. Shoko and Satoru got into the car. Shoko drove much more sedately, and glanced often at her friend. His smile had vanished as soon as the boy couldn’t see him anymore, and now he looked… haunted.

“Would telling me what happened help?” Shoko asked softly.

“Yeah,” Satoru murmured promptly, startling her. “It wasn’t that difficult of a mission. Curses are always easier to exorcise when they’re newly born. But… there were witnesses. Some stupid teenagers getting drunk in the basement. I tried to get them to leave, but they wouldn’t listen, so I thought I’d just herd the curse up to the top floor, away from them. It smashed through seven stories to get to them.” Satoru closed his eyes tightly; Shoko kept her hands on the wheel, even though the rising tide of grief beside her plucked at her attention like a needy child.

“Any survivors?” she whispered.

“No,” Satoru croaked. “I managed to kill the damn thing before it could disfigure the bodies, though. Fuck. I was so stupid, Shoko.”

Shoko pulled over, flicked on the car’s hazard lights, and pulled Satoru into a hug, stroking his hair soothingly. He crumpled against her, breathing harshly. She really couldn’t think of anything to say that would make him feel better; it had been stupid to simply leave those teenagers alone, and it had been arrogant of him to think he could exorcise the curse before it took advantage of its placement directly above helpless children. Grief and shame must be what had tipped him into a zone; Limitless would’ve negated physical stimuli, and Satoru’s hearing was selective at best.

The emotions were overwhelming—but, oddly enough, Satoru wasn’t re-triggered into another zone. Shoko frowned slightly to herself.

“Satoru,” she said slowly, “How far away were you from that boy, Yuji?”

“I don’t know,” he replied dully. “It was at least a mile. I was trying to find the manager who lowered the veil, but…”

Shoko bit her lip, and pressed her face to his hair. She didn’t like the implication of that. A Guide that powerful was the perfect match for Satoru, truly—but Itadori Yuji was only ten. It would be unspeakably cruel to snatch him away from his life here and sequester him at Jujutsu Tech until he was old enough, and trained enough, to bond with Satoru.

But… others had visited him. Others knew him. Why didn’t she and Satoru?

“We both need sleep,” Shoko sighed. “I know the council will want you to write your report while it’s still fresh, but as your doctor and assigned Guide, I think you need to be in bed as soon as possible.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Satoru grumbled, and Shoko giggled.

Upon returning to Tokyo, the two sorcerers grabbed a midnight snack from a corner store and ate in one of the school’s courtyards, silent with exhaustion. Then they went to bed. Shoko hugged Satoru in the hall before they split in opposite directions to their rooms.

“Tomorrow, when you go see Itadori,” Satoru whispered, “Can… can you tell him I said I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

~\0/~

In his dreams, he sat on the cool ground, his head on someone’s knee, as they read to him. Their hand stroked his hair soothingly. They felt like home. There was a thick, warm ribbon of trust and affection and quiet joy connecting their mind to his.

He knew this moment, this positioning. He’d been here before. With Suguru.

How could he bond with anyone, when there was still a raw, gaping wound in his soul where Suguru had been?

~\0/~

Gojo Satoru didn’t visit the next day, but the tired-looking lady in a doctor’s coat did. She introduced herself as Ieiri Shoko, and told Yuji that she had the same ability as him.

“Is that why I can’t tell what you’re feeling?” Yuji asked, tilting his head. It was very unusual for him to not know on sight what someone was feeling, and if they needed his help.

She smiled slightly and shook her head. “No, the reason you can’t tell is because I’m shielding,” she explained. “I don’t do it very often, but I’d rather not overwhelm you.”

“Okay,” Yuji said, even though he really didn’t understand. He got the feeling she was one of those adults who wasn’t used to explaining herself, and he wanted to be polite and not distress her when she was a guest. “How’s Gojo-san? Is he okay?”

“Satoru’s fine,” Shoko assured him. “This isn’t the first time he’s zoned so badly; he’s probably in bed, and he’d better be eating and staying hydrated or I’ll kick his—butt.”

“You can swear, it’s fine. Grandpa says bad words all the time.”

Shoko smiled wider. “What a funny kid you are,” she murmured. “Thanks, Yuji-kun. Satoru is fine, he knows what he’s doing. I’m here to ask how you are, though.”

“I’m fine, too,” Yuji said, frowning a little. “I was really tired last night, and sad, but sleeping helped.”

“That’s lovely and I promise I believe you, but it shouldn’t be possible. Yuji-kun, may I do a quick assessment of your mind? I won’t be able to read your thoughts. I just want to make sure you’re actually alright, and not just blocking off trauma, which will make life much harder for you when you’re older.”

Yuji sighed, but nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Shoko reached forward and rested her fingertips gently against his forehead. Yuji’s spine stiffened as he felt the oddest sensation; almost like those cool, elegant fingertips had sunk through his skull and were resting directly on his brain. It was not painful. In fact, it was… kind of nice. Almost ticklish, but not in the way that made him want to jerk away or squeal.

Shoko’s eyes widened, and her mouth formed a little ‘o’ of shock. Carefully, she retracted her hand, and asked Yuji, “How long have you been helping people, Yuji-kun?”

“Year an’ years,” he replied promptly. “As long as I can remember. It was mostly just Grandpa and my friends at school, but when we moved here a really nice lady with a scar on her face was crying in the park, and she recognized me. Not like, knew me, but she recognized what I could do, and she got really upset ‘cause she thought I’d followed her, but I read to her from my textbook and she calmed down. She brought me candy the next day. I think she said her name was Utahime? She’s come by a few times since, but not for a while.”

“I know Utahime,” Shoko said, beginning to smile. “She’s a teacher, now, so she can’t get away from her students much anymore. Who else have you helped?”

“Lessee… there was the lady with blue hair who gave me money… and then there was the really tall boy, I think he was only a couple years older’n me, but he wasn’t crying or angry, he was, like… laughing, and hitting a guy who was already dead. I got him to stop and wash off the blood, and then a lady who said she was his older sister showed up and thanked me. I don’t think they were related, though. They looked different. He called me “little brother” when he’d calmed down and gave me a Kamen Rider figure. Oh, and there was the old man with a guitar, even older than Grandpa, but he was really strong. He sends me CDs a lot, and sometimes he and Grandpa talk on the phone about old people stuff like politics and music these days.”

Yuji listed off everyone he’d helped, which was… a lot. He remembered all of them. Sometimes Shoko smiled, or looked thoughtful, or raised her eyebrows in surprise; once in a while she would murmur their name, like she knew them personally. Maybe she did, if she had the same ability as him.

It was impossible for Yuji to forget someone once he’d helped them. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but Daddy had said it was something like… blocking out the excess. Yuji didn’t just block excess, though; he absorbed, and sometimes he could feel himself giving back, though it was so instinctive that he wasn’t sure what, exactly, he was giving. He simply knew that, if he could touch someone and speak to them, he could make them feel better. Taking and giving like that felt a little bit like sharing bits of his heart. He didn’t mind, not if it made people happy.

He thought about Gojo Satoru again. How, of all the people he’d helped, Gojo had been the first to be horrified, and call him a baby.

“Shoko-chan,” Yuji began, “Does Gojo not like kids?”

“What do you mean?” Shoko asked, frowning.

“Well… when I opened the door last night, he looked scared, and he said I was a baby, before he passed out. Is he angry at me? He shouldn’t be, not when I was just helping.”

Shoko laughed softly and shook her head. “No, Yuji-kun, he’s not angry at you, and he doesn’t really have any feelings about kids one way or the other. It’s just… Satoru and I aren’t used to kids as powerful as you. He’s never been a good judge of age; he probably thought you were even younger than you are. And, well, it’s a little scary for people like him to realize that someone who can match them in one aspect is a very long ways behind them in others. You’re incredibly powerful, Yuji. So is Satoru. He’s never met someone so young and yet strong—which is a bit funny, because he was the same way.”

“He was?” Yuji asked, eyes widening.

“Yep. Physically gifted, but also his own ability manifested early, and the only Guides who could keep him calm were adults he knew and loved. You, though? A little kid, a stranger, managing to fix that hurricane in his head in just a few minutes? He’s horrified that he forced that on you, and I think he feels bad because he’s so primed to hurt others who aren’t used to him.” Shoko stopped, and smiled crookedly. “You’re too easy to talk to, Yuji-kun,” she admonished lightly. “No wonder so many of the others like you.”

“So you do know them all!”

“Not all. Most. I’m actually pretty new to my position; I only graduated two years ago. Maybe that’s why no one told me about you.” Shoko frowned thoughtfully into the middle distance for a moment, while Yuji considered what that meant. So he was like a secret that people only got to find out about when others decided they were good enough? That sounded fun! He grinned, pleased with his role.

Then he heard himself ask, “Can I come see them all?”

Shoko blinked, startled. “Ah… come again?”

“Can I come see them all?” Yuji repeated. “I wanna make sure they’re all okay. Especially Utahime-chan. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who asks for help, even if she really needs it.”

After a moment, Shoko smiled. “You know what? Sure. What’s your weekend look like, Yuji-kun? I’ll take you to visit Utahime.”

[randomestfandoms-ocs]

Wedding ask game + Campbell and Derek?

Who first brought up the option of marriage? Was it an easy topic?

Derek brings it up first! They both want to but the logistics, what it means for their careers, and figuring out timing is hard to navigate

Which one proposed? Was it grand and public? Discreet and private? Was it expected?

Derek proposed. Bell knows he's going to propose but doesn't know exactly when it'll happen. It's either just the two of them, around the rest of the BAU, or one of them gets injured on the field and Derek half proposes in the ambulance

Show us their engagement and/or wedding rings!

one of these!

Did they plan the wedding by themselves, with help, or with a professional planner?

They plan it with some help from the BAU – like JJ and Will, it's very simple, just the team in Rossi's backyard, he cooks, either Reid gets ordained or Gideon does and shows up to surprise them, not sure what season it happens in so idk who all is there but everyone else helps with decorations and JJ, Rossi, and Hotch go dress shopping (Rossi and Hotch argue over paying for the dress)

Was the planning and time up til the wedding stressful?

Time up til the wedding was stressful because of cases and their lives are always stressful, but nothing about the wedding was. Penelope is in charge of keeping all of the plans organized so once everything is figured out it's only a matter of waiting until things settle down enough to have the wedding and then she just pulls out all of the plans, sends the jet to pick up Derek's family, and they're good to go

Who were the first people to find out about the engagement? How did they react?

the team, if they aren't there when Derek proposes then Hotch finds out first, otherwise they're all there. Hotch pretends he's not crying, Penelope is very much crying, it's just sweet and lots of hugs and everyone is very happy for them

Who are the maids of honour and/or best men? Why and how were they chosen?

They fight the most over Reid tbh. In the end since the entire guest list is just the team + Derek's family + Jack, they don't end up having wedding parties, just Jack as the ring bearer and Henry as the flower boy (he insists, he likes the flowers more than the rings)

Was there any drama whatsoever regarding the guest list?

Not at all, they have all the same friends

Show us a mood/stimboard of their wedding’s general aesthetic.

Do they get married through court? Church? Third secret option?

Third secret option – they file the paperwork at city hall and then have their ceremony performed by either Reid or Gideon (neither are particularly religious but whoever does the ceremony likely gets ordained because that matters more to Derek's family)

When do they get married? Night or day? Any specific reason for either?

Night, mostly just because they agree that they like it better but also because given their lives, it's easier to get married at night because they're less likely to get called in to work

Do either of them play music while walking down the aisle (if they do at all)? If yes, show us their song.

Yes, this string cover of Take Me To Church for Bell (or the whole thing, it's not exactly a long processional

Show us their outfits!

Do they follow any familiar, cultural, and/or religious traditions at any point of the wedding?

I don't think so

Who was the ringbearer?

Jack Hotchner

Who married them?

Either Reid or Gideon

Show us their vows. Did either of them tear up at them?

(I don't have them written but yes they both tear up)

Did anyone oppose the marriage? Did they speak then, or did they just forever hold their peace?

Nope, at least not anyone who was there

What was the ceremony like? Any highlights?

It was very fun, it was outside in the snow (with a lot of space heaters), at some point Jack and Henry start making snow angels in their little wedding suits so they relocate inside. Highlights include Reid calling Bell his sister and Penelope getting wasted and giving a speech about how she always wanted to hate Bell and be jealous of her but she just loves her so much, also Reid and Morgan just being silly and adorable

Did anyone pass out from a food/alcohol coma?

No alcohol comas but Penelope did get very drunk, lots of food comas because Rossi prepared a whole Italian feast

Do they have a honeymoon? Where to? How soon after?

They keep trying and not being able to because of work but eventually have a honeymoon at a cabin they rent that they fall absolutely in love with

Do they renew their vows? Remarry, even?

I don't think so!

If the couple could describe their wedding in a sentence, how would they?

TBD

If you could describe their wedding in a sentence, how would you?

Familial

[txemrn]

Hii 🥰

I saw this picture for Valentine’s Day and thought maybe it’ll inspire a fic or an edit (no pressure 🥰)

Thank you so much, @peonierose , for this pic prompt for Valentine's Day! I kinda sorta broke the rules... as usual... lol what I wrote is more than likely NOT what you had in mind when you sent me this pic. 🙈 And also, this story happens on Valentine's Day, but it would be a stretch to call this a Valentine's Day fic. Either way, hey! New story! Thanks again for the inspiration! Enjoy! 💚

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!OC (Tatum Erikson-Ramsey); relationship implied, but limited interaction in this fic; they have been married for 4 years at this point

Summary: After receiving horrible life-changing news from the hospital's lab report, Tatum is overcome with worry with having to be the bearer of bad news to the couple. In her poor attempts to cope, she turns to a decadent treat.

Word Count: ~2475

Warning: Mature themes; angst; depiction of dysfunctional eating; a few curse words; mentions of pregnancy and delivery

A/N: Some of the characters and plot belong to our friends at Pixelberry; this was not beta'd, please excuse any errors

~🖤~

Looking at the STAT result of the ordered lab test, a cold chill crawls down Tatum’s spine. The thunder of her heartbeat rings in her ears as her chest begins to heave.  With her vision growing hazy, she quickly shoves her phone into the pocket of her white coat, turning to hastily leave the crowded nurse's station.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dr. E–”  Wanda stops in her tracks, her friendly gaze shifting into worry.  She recognizes the agony crashing across Tatum’s features. “Uh…Dr. Erikson, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she waves, giving a cordial smile; but Tatum can feel the color draining from her face. She cradles her abdomen as bile teases the back of her throat.  This can’t be happening.

She hated this part: having to deliver bad, life-altering news to happy couples–especially when they're not expecting it, especially when they are living their best lives, especially when it would force them to make unimaginable decisions that could possibly haunt them forever. 

This news is hitting her hard; she is already devastated for them.

Fresh air. I need fresh air.

“I’ll be back in twenty,” she hurries past the nurse's station.

“But Mrs. Simpson is 8 centimeters,” Wanda calls out after Tatum, her hands on her hips with a shocked expression.

“I’ll be back in time,” Tatum reassures, heading for the door. “I promise.”

Her power walk turns into a run as she enters the emergency stairwell. She bolts down the five flights until she reaches the door on the bottom level that leads outside to the ambulance bays for the emergency department. A burning gurgle rises in her chest as a sour pang reaches her jaw as she swings open the door. Clenching to her stomach, she stumbles to a nearby bush and vomits. 

Taking a moment, she hovers over the green shrubs to drink in the chilly Boston air as it soothes her clammy skin. She wishes she could indulge in something to take the edge off of her nerves, like a Xanax or alcohol, but those weren’t an option. 

You’re fine, she inhales deeply. Everything’s going to be fine. You're an expert at this.

Feeling the nausea die down, she adjusts the snug fit of her scrub top before quickly retreating back into the hospital. A shiver ignites goosebumps across her body as she power-walks to the staff elevator. But something catches her eye as she passes the hospital’s gift shop: a refrigerated display case, filled with flowers and decadent cakes. 

And suddenly, her stomach growls.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ramsey.”

“Good morning, Ms. Edna.” Edna Blakenship is an 82-year-old volunteer that works in the gift shop on Tuesdays. Tatum loved getting coffee from her; she was hilarious and still quite sharp for her age. Plus she would pray to Saint Raphael, the patron saint of healing, for healthcare workers that stopped by to visit her. Tatum isn't particularly religious, but Edna's kind sentiments and positive energy always made for a great day at work. And today, she needed all the good vibes for this news.

Tatum also loved how Edna loved Ethan, treating him like the son she never had… and the mother he deserved.  She is one of the few people that can make Ethan smile with his rare, but genuinely beautiful, toothy grin.  She is also the only one in the hospital that calls Tatum by her married name; ‘Mrs. Ramsey.’ ‘The name people call you should serve as a reminder of who you are. Family comes first, my dear; then career.”

Tatum chews on her lip, pulling down her snug shirt again as the old woman’s words course through her memories. Family comes first…

“Are you thinking about getting a sweet treat for your husband for Valentine’s Day?” Edna notices the obstetrician staring at the cakes in the glass case. "You know? We got an order of these boozy dark truffles–" she grabs the box opening it up for Tatum to see. "I know Ethan would enjoy them."

The pungent odor of woodsy hops mixed with dark cocoa stings her senses, shooting an offsetting churn of uneasiness to Tatum's belly.

“Um…” Tatum nonchalantly covers her nose, feeling the back of her cheeks salivate what felt like acid. "You are so sweet to offer–" she swallows thickly, turning away from the unwelcoming odor before she hurls. "I already got him something, but, um–" she retreats frantically, stopping to look at the different cakes. "I need to get something for my nurses working today, and I was thinking a cake would be perfect. Which one would you recommend?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” she smiles mischievously. “I’d get the lemon sponge with raspberry buttercream. It has a raspberry compote filling inside.” She points to the top of the cabinet. “See that? It’s three layers, plenty for you and all of your staff to enjoy.”

Tatum’s mouth begins to water at the sight of the beautifully designed cake, complete with fresh raspberries and roses on top. The uneasiness of her anxious stomach is replaced by hunger as it comes to life, rumbling as an unexplainable need to taste the cake overwhelms her. “I’ll take it.”

Edna boxed the cake, slipping it delicately into a bag before finishing the transaction with Tatum. “Come here, dear.” The old woman steps out from behind the register, taking Tatum’s hand before bowing her head to pray.

“Thanks, Ms. Edna,” Tatum breathes a sigh of relief, “I could really use St. Raphael’s guidance today.”

“Oh,” she giggles, “I didn’t pray to him. For you, we need St. Gerard to intercede.”

"St. Gerard?" Tatum gives a curious look. “What’s he the patron saint of?”

Edna smiles kindly, a knowing glint in her eye before turning back to her counter. “Have a good rest of your shift, Mrs. Ramsey.”

Tatum eyes her suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she pulls her white coat closed around her body before taking her purchase and heading back to the labor and delivery floor.

To her relief, the laboring patient was not ready to deliver upon her return to the unit.  She checked in with the nurses before heading to the physician’s lounge to clean herself up from getting sick. 

Her phone pings; looking at the alert, her mind is brought back to the present and the difficult conversation she is going to have later. This would surely be one of the hardest reports she has ever delivered, and once again, her thoughts begin to spiral.

She sets the cake down on a table, preparing to take it out to the nurses. But the decadent scent of the citrus and berries kindle a voracious desire in her that seems to quiet her anxiety.

Just one bite.

Tatum steals a raspberry from the top, a dab of the buttercream frosting clinging to the side of it, and pops it into her mouth. 

Oh. My. God.

Tatum’s eyes roll back into her head, the sweet taste satisfying her craving. Sorta. Suddenly, she needs more. She digs into one of the kitchen drawers and pulls out a knife and a fork. She cuts herself a small sliver.

The girls wouldn’t mind a small piece missing. Shoot, they don't even know there's a cake for them yet.

Licking the frosting off of her fork, she begins to plan out how she needs to deliver the bad news. In person would be better. Should she call or send a message that she needs to them meet in person?

She cut herself another piece, not wasting anytime before digging into the moist layers. Her mouth hums in delight as the sweetness relieves her uncharacteristic and unnerving appetite for something sugary.

Call. Definitely call, but could she keep herself calm and collect? She'd hate to strike panic before she can spill the truth.

She cuts a third piece. 

She would practice what to say.

A fourth piece.

As Tatum’s mind swirls, her thoughts begin to play every what-if scenario in her head.  Would there be tears? Screaming? Anger? Hurtful words? Would she be blamed for this?

She pulls the cake box closer to herself, eating straight from the container. Swipe after swipe of her fork, she engorges herself, sometimes swallowing before chewing, making way for the next bite. Unable to be tamed, unable to be satiated. Chaotic. Madness.

Until suddenly, her fork drops, clanging carelessly against the table.

A twinge of pain bores into Tatum’s head while queasiness sloshes in her stomach. She looks down at the cake box. 

And freezes.

Save for a few morsels and swipes of icing, it was gone. 

Before she can make sense of what just happened, the sugar rush of consuming an entire cake crashes into her body all at once. Her eyes refuse to focus, rolling back into her head. She wraps her arms around her bloated belly, her shirt now pulling uncomfortably tight across her midsection. She unbuttons her pants before laying her head on the cool metal table, moaning in agony.

“Dr. Erikson, we’re going to start pushing–” Wanda freezes after seeing a pitifully wilted Tatum with the remnants of the dessert next to her head; some of the cake was haphazardly smashed across her face while other chunks clung to her blonde hair. “Um...” Wanda shuts the door for privacy.  “I know it’s none of my business,” she quietly starts, “but…”

“Oh God, Wanda!” Tatum moans tearfully, interrupted by a hiccup, then a burp. “You don’t want to know.”

The seasoned nurse cautiously walks over to the physician, taking a seat. “Try me,” she playfully challenged, “I’m a good listener, and I can guarantee you I’m better than that insulin-resistance you're trying to achieve,” she chuckles.  Tatum slowly lifts her head off the table, cradling her forehead in her hands. Wanda gently rubs her back as they sit for a moment in silence. “C’mon, baby, it can’t be that bad.”

Tears sting the backs of Tatum’s eyes as she looks to Wanda. “I’m just… so stressed and-and overwhelmed. I don't think… I don't think I can do this..”

“Do what, baby–?”

Tatum quickly covers her mouth in a panic as a greenish-gray hue spreads across her skin. “I’m gon–I’m gonna–” Wanda grabs a large trashcan, placing it underneath Tatum while collecting the strands of her blonde hair to hold it back. Tatum grips onto the sides of the can, her knuckles blanching to white as she begins to wretch again and again.

Finally, the urge dissipates as Tatum lays her arm along the rim of the basket before resting her sweaty head on her wrist. Wanda grabs a nearby washcloth, dampening it with cool water. She presses it to Tatum’s skin as she sits down next to her.

“Sweetheart,” Wanda starts, combing her fingers through Tatum’s damp tresses. “You and I both know you can’t cope with stress like this. Now, I don’t know what’s going on, and I know–I know–what you’re going to think. But this is coming from an old, decrepit woman, you hear?” This earns a pained chuckle from Tatum. “Stress and worry? It’s part of life, and it makes it hard, unbearable at times. The burden is hard in our line of work–I know. Believe me, I know. But if you haven’t noticed by now, each problem that we come across in life… it doesn’t last forever. It has its own lesson for us to grow from, and then before you know it, the season is over.” 

“I just–” Tatum sits up, dabbing at the wetness in her eyes. “--I don’t even know how I’m going to go about this.”

“You’re not supposed to know how,” Wanda’s lip curls as she begins to wash the cake residue from Tatum’s mouth. “We don’t go through hard times because we are experts at it. If you already knew what to do, you wouldn’t think it was so hard, now would you?”

“Dr. Erikson, we’re starting to see head.”

Tatum nods as the delivery nurse exits the room as quickly as she entered. Still feeling queasy, Tatum slumps back in her chair, laying her head back with her eyes closed. She arches her back, stretching in hope to create more room from her binge.

“Well, I better head back out there, but think about what I said, baby, and–” she winks at Tatum as her tone turns lighthearted, “no more cake.”

A rage of nausea ravages through Tatum’s abdomen at the mention of the word ‘cake’. “Noted,” she holds her fist to her mouth as gas bubbles retreat to her mouth, the richness of the taste of sugar uncomfortably unappetizing. She clears her throat. “Wanda?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Do you know who St. Gerard is?”

The older woman snickers. “You’re an obstetrician, and you don’t know?” Wanda pulls out a chain from around her neck, revealing a silver charm of the saint.  “He’s the patron saint of childbirth and pregnant women and mothers. Why?”

“N-no reason.”

With the door closing, Tatum swiftly throws the cake box into the receptacle. Standing up slowly to maintain her balance, she shuffles slowly to retrieve from her locker a bottle of Pepto, her second one to nurse this week.

Her phone pings again. Another text from Ethan. She had ignored his message earlier. She isn't sure if it was her nerves, her overdose of sugar or maybe a mixture of both, but her trembling hands fumble to even reply.  Rather than respond now, she leaves her husband’s message unopened, clicking out of the messaging app. 

And there it is again. The last page she had pulled up on her screen before she spiraled into this nightmare.  And the test result stares strangely back at her.

hCG                137,000 IU/L

Tatum's thumb traces over each letter and number, ensuring she is reading the lab value correctly. Damnit.

She walks into the physician's private showering area to splash cool water from the sink on her face. She pats dry her skin, then turns on her heel to attend the delivery, but not before she catches her reflection in a full length mirror.

Tatum notices she forgot to button her scrub bottoms. As she lifts up her shirt, she can't help, but take in the surreal sight: it’s there. It really is there. She gently glides her hand over her lower abdomen, feeling the tiniest swell of a belly. 

Her now confirmed pregnant belly.

"Dr. Erikson. We need you for delivery."

“Coming!” Tatum manages to fasten the button to her pants before shimmying down her scrub top. Giving herself one last look over, a strange spur of confidence hits her. And she pulls out her phone to contact Ethan, but before she fires off a quick text, letting him know she needed to talk him, she quickly reads his earlier messages.

And she gasps.

Ethan: We need to talk.

Ethan: I saw Edna today.

~🖤~

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

~🖤~

Tags (please let me know if you wish to be added/removed)

PERMA

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ALL OPH

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[desfraisespartout]

Last line challenge

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like). 

Thank you for the tag @riinoaheartilly 💖

Here's an excerpt of the 3rd chapter of my FFXVI fic with my favorite bearers Tiamat, Aevis and Biast.

Eibis hoche la tête pensivement. Si Cid a bien quelques partisans, il n'a probablement pas ou peu de combattants dans ses rangs, et Eibis doute que les Pourvoyeurs qu'il secourt puissent se battre. Mis à part les soldats-esclaves, les Pourvoyeurs ne connaissent pas l'art de la guerre, et on ne les y forme pas non plus. Sans compter que leur espérance de vie est plutôt basse. Sans l'unité spéciale d'assassins avec Tiamat, Eibis et ses compagnons auraient servi de cristal ambulant ou de chair à canon au front, et seraient probablement déjà...

And a quick translation of it:

Aevis nods pensively. If Cid has indeed a few supporters, he probably doesn't have any soldiers amidst his ranks, and Aevis doubts any of the Bearers he saved can truly fight. Unless they were in the army, Bearers are not taught any fighting skills. Add to that a short life spawn... If not for Tiamat's special assassin unit, Aevis and his comrades would've been used as common cristals or cannon fodder on the frontline, and they would probably already be...

I'd like to tag @kitsoa @vampiregokudera @magicmetslogic, @nutcraxker, @seynne, if you're willing of course. And to any followers seeing this post. 💖

[bastian-of-peace]

Name: Sebastian Leonard Harker

Nicknames: Bash, Seb, Bastian

Age: 34

Gender: Cisgender male (he/him)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Circle: Power

Occupation: Owner of the New Dawn Animal Shelter

The Building Blocks of One (1) Sebastian Leonard Harker:

He is the 7th of 8 children and the result of an affair his mother had with the handsome man she worked with at the dinner. While Bash's conception and birth put a strain on his mother and step-father's marriage, they chose to remain together, but his step-father made it very clear: Bash was not his son and he would never be. Bash was too young to recognize the clear resentment his step-father had for him, particularly when his eldest siblings, Nico and Nat, were so good at shielding him from it. If Bash was given less food than the others, Nat would sneak away snacks for him annd if his step-dad blamed Bash for something, Nico would make a bigger mess to take the blame off of him. Their kindness towards the "unwanted one" as his parents sometimes said always stuck with him.

For most of his life, all Bash knew of his father was his surname, given that his step-father didn't want him having his own. His mother once drove him to the dinner she used to work at to point him out to Bash, but he couldn't recall the face he has seen no matter how hard he tried. He had assumed that he didn't get to have a father, like most of the other kids at school. But as he was reading aloud in his fifth grade language arts class, he felt something pull at him, a thread around his heart he had never felt before. He thought he was dying. An ambulance to the emergency room assured him he was not dying, but the look on his step-father's face told him that he might be dying later that night. Before it could get that far, a young man with calloused hands and a simple smile met them outside the hospital and introduced himself as Damian Harker, Bash's uncle. After several long conversations between his parents and this new uncle, he was told that his father was dead but that Damian promised to take care of his nephew. With the pikachu plush his sister, Quinn, got him for his birthday held tightly in his hands, he followed his uncle straight into the Underground.

Despite growing up unaware, Bash still had the hunter blood in him and all assumed that it wouldn't take much from him to blossom into his full potential. Bash thought that they clearly had never spoken with his step-father because he had a way of disappointing people. Bash wasn't just uncoordinated and clumsy with a tendency to cry when he hits someone too hard; he was soft. Uncle Damian promised that he would grow out of it all with practice and while eventually he could punch a vampire in the jaw without blinking, his bleeding heart refused to harden. They were just people and they deserved a chance to live, even if they weren't human. Uncle Damian told him that this was how things were in the Underground but Bash never could shake the feeling that he was acting in the same way that his step-father had done to him. That wasn't who he wanted to be. A door opened to him for another option, one that could help him bridge the gap between the life his uncle wanted for him and the one he wanted for himself. Bash ran towards it and never looked back.

The Shield Bearer seeks to protect and they found a kindred spirit in the foolhardy boy who still needed to have a pikachu toy under his pillow to sleep. Anyone could kill, but you needed more than a ready blade to truly protect someone. So Bash gave them his oath and a promise: Give Guidance, but not Control. Protect, but never Coddle. Offer Peace, but prepare a Blade.

Since becoming a sworn, Bash has tried to bridge the gap between the circles, choosing the role as a diplomat instead of a fighter (thought he was just as ready to bring out his weapon if the situation called for it). He did this with the building of the New Dawn Animal Shelter, using the place as a cover to also create a safe space for new supernaturals or anyone who needed help. He has access to supplies for any who might need it and helps people integrate themselves into the city. If you ever need anything, Bash will always be willing to help.

People don't really talk about the other side of Bash's job. He may be kind, but he was still a sworn. He was still a Harker. And this was still the Underground. People didn't always like living in the way Bash presented to them. Why play nice with weaker species when there was fun to be had. Those people laugh in Bash's face when he holds his hand out to them in peace. Those people don't laugh when Bash runs his blade through their heads. Bash may be kind, but he did not like bullies and he would not accept their wonton violence.

His youngest sister, Tabitha, works with him at the animal shelter after having being turned in a random werewolf attack. While Bash is busy being the hero the city needs, Tibby is behind him making sure he doesn't kill himself trying.

[angelswing236]

Ooooh, that's interesting! Can you tell anything about The Stretcher Bearer? Somehow I don't assume you have Thomas in mind ;)

Thanks for the ask, @kehlana-wolhamonao3!

I do have Thomas in mind for that one, actually. He was RAMC but didn't have medical experience when he volunteered, just a reference from Dr Clarkson, so it makes sense to me that he would have been a stretcher bearer. In fact, I think we even see him carrying a stretcher in the show.

I'd like to explore more of his war service and how it affected and changed him as a person.

I started writing it a fair while ago, but haven't progressed it much as I don't have a solid idea yet of what I want the plot line to be. The First World War has long fascinated me. I have every intention of reading your Ambulance Driver when I get the time!

[historicalfirearms]

In Action: L2A3 in Malaya

In the photographs above we can see a section from the Commonwealth Field Ambulance, part of the Royal Army Medical Corps tending to a casualty in Malaya during the Indonesian Confrontation, in August 1964. 

While Lance Corporal A.J.R. Lea and Private J. Davies tend to the casualty,  Private M. Moore stands guard with his Sterling L2A3, providing security for the others in his team. The team are part of the Commonwealth Field Ambulance, a mobile medical unit that acted as the first tier of battlefield medical treatment.

The Sterling Submachine Gun had been officially adopted a decade earlier in 1954, it saw extensive service in the jungles of Malaya and Borneo. The Sterling was the standard personal weapon issued to any man whose primary job wasn’t firing a rifle or GPMG. Officers, some NCOs, radio operators, mortar teams, dog handlers, drivers, vehicle crews and as we see here medics all carried the L2A3. It remained in service right up into the early 1990s. 

Sources:

Images: 1 2 3

If you enjoy the content please consider supporting Historical Firearms through Patreon!

[ihni]

Lost. Found. Free?

(On AO3)

Neil Hargrove dies on a Saturday.

It’s a messy affair – literally. He and his wife had been travelling by car down a road just outside Hawkins, when they’d hit a deer. The car veered off road, flipped, rolled, and crashed against the trunk of a tree. While the rescue workers managed to pull Mrs. Hargrove out of the wreckage alive, Neil Hargrove’s lower body was pinned – crushed – behind the wheel, and he died while the first responders were still trying to get the car door open.

When Jim arrives on the scene, the ambulance carrying Mrs. Hargrove has already left, and they’re working on getting Neil Hargrove’s body out of the mangled car.

After learning what happened, and just who were involved in the accident, Jim swears and drags a hand down his face. The Hargroves were alone in the car when they crashed, and that means that Jim now has to locate their children, and let them know what has happened. As by chance, he knows exactly where Maxine Mayfield, Susan Hargrove’s daughter, is right now; she is at the Wheeler’s place. He knows this, because he dropped El off there a couple of hours ago, too. His adopted daughter was looking forward to spending the weekend with her friends.

Jim hates to be the bearer of bad news, but he knows that Max is better off hearing this from him. He sends a deputy to the Hargrove house to try to get a hold of Max’s brother.

It’s never easy to tell someone that their loved ones have been in an accident, and while Jim is the Chief of Police, no one has ever accused him of being sensitive. He knows he is maybe not the person most suited to deal with the grieving family when it comes to these things, but he also realizes that with Neil Hargrove dead and Susan Hargrove in intensive care, their children will need support. So the first thing he does, after bringing a frantic Max to the hospital to be with her mother, is call in Joyce Byers. Joyce agrees to come and stay with Max at the hospital while Jim takes care of everything else, and also offers for Max to stay with her for a couple of nights, if needed. Jim nods and thanks her. He’s more than grateful for her help.

Callaghan eventually returns from the Hargrove house, only to report that he hadn’t gotten a hold of Max’s brother. The boy’s car – and every cop in Hawkins recognizes Billy Hargrove’s Camaro – was apparently parked in the carport, but the boy himself was nowhere to be found. Callaghan says he knocked on the door several times, and even went around to the back of the house to try the back door. He looked inside the house through the windows, but it was quiet and dark, and quite obvious that no one was home.

Jim nods, and frowns. It’s a Saturday night, after all – the boy may be at a party or something. Not knowing what else to do, he calls the hospital and asks to speak with Joyce. He then waits on the phone while Joyce asks Max if she knows where her brother might be, but she returns a couple of minutes later with no answer. Apparently, Max hasn’t seen her brother since breakfast that morning, before her mother drove her to the Wheeler’s. This poses a problem for Jim; either he sends his men out randomly all over town, looking for signs of partying teenagers, or they try again tomorrow.

Hawkins’ Police department doesn’t have the kind of manpower where Jim can send everyone out to look for one teenager, at least not when it’s not a life-or-death situation. So he tells Callaghan to go home for the night, but to drive by the Hargrove house and try again in the morning, before coming in to work.

 The next day, Callaghan shows up and reports the same thing; locked doors, dark house. No one home. And alright, Jim was young once, it’s not uncommon for teenagers to stay over somewhere after a party, but it’s been nineteen hours since Neil Hargrove died, and his son ought to be informed about that fact as soon as possible.

He sends out Callaghan and Powell to look for him at his friends’ houses, and hopes that they’ll find him sooner rather than later. There are many things that need to be wrapped up when someone passes away, and as Susan Hargrove still hasn’t woken up, Neil’s son should be the one calling the shots when it comes to Neil Hargrove’s remains.

When Sunday evening rolls around, they still haven’t located Billy Hargrove. The boy’s friends from school that they speak to keep saying the same thing; no one has seen him since Friday, no one saw him at any party last night, and no one knows where he might be. A couple of them seem to think that he might have skipped town – apparently it wasn’t a secret that he never liked Hawkins in the first place – but Jim dismisses that thought entirely. The boy’s car is still at the house, after all, and he doesn’t think that Billy Hargrove is the kind of kid who would randomly get on a bus. Besides, the last bus to pass through Hawkins did so on Friday, and Max saw her brother on Saturday morning. So unless he walked, he’s still somewhere in Hawkins.

For a brief moment, Jim entertains the thought that the boy has learned about his father’s passing, somehow – the whole town is buzzing with the news of what happened, so it’s not unlikely – and has withdrawn somewhere to deal with the shock. But no one has seen him. Surely, in a town of this size, someone would have come forward already if they’d talked to the boy, or even seen him around, since they all seem to know that Jim and his men are looking for him.

Callaghan goes back to the house and slides a note under the front door, telling Billy to come to the station as soon as he can. But Sunday turns to Monday without a sign of him.

 Joyce stayed with Max at the hospital the first night, but brought her back to the house she shares with her sons for the second night. Susan Hargrove is still being kept in a medically-induced coma, and the doctors have promised to call if there are any news, but have also said that it is unlikely that they will try to wake her up before Wednesday.

Max, somewhat surprisingly, decides that she wants to go to school on Monday, apparently seeking the comfort of her friends. Joyce calls Jim before lunch and tells him that she dropped Max off at school that morning and explained what had happened to her teachers. Before they hang up, she says:

“She doesn’t have any of her own things here, Hop. I let her borrow one of my shirts and one of Jonathan’s old jeans, but they’re not a good fit and if she’s staying here for a while she needs some things from her house. Some clothes, at least, maybe the pillow from her bed? For comfort?”

Jim writes it down and promises to swing by the house in the afternoon.

“Have you found Billy yet?” Joyce continues.

“No,” Jim says. “Not yet.”

“I’m getting worried, Hop. He needs to know what happened. And if nothing else, Max needs the support of her family.”

“We’re working on it,” Jim says, and rips the list off the writing pad. “I’ll come by the house tonight, with Max’s things.”

 He eats a sandwich in his car and calls it lunch, and then drives over to the house on Cherry Lane. Just like when his deputies were here on previous occasions, the house is dark and silent. Billy’s car is still in the carport, and the doors to the house are locked. Jim has brought the keys that were retrieved from Neil Hargrove’s possessions, and he easily lets himself inside.

The first room he enters is Billy’s, if the posters on the walls and the general mess is any indication. Jim looks around half-heartedly, but as the room is empty and it doesn’t look like the bed has been slept in, he moves on. The next room he enters must be Max’s. Jim opens up a wardrobe and picks out a couple of shirts and pants at random, which he stuffs into a backpack that’s hanging over the back of a chair. He opens a drawer, and stuffs a couple of pairs of socks and underwear in there as well, and then reaches for the pillow on the bed.

With Max’s backpack over one shoulder and the pillow under one arm, Jim closes the door to her room and turns to leave when –

tap tap tap

– there’s a sound coming from further down the hall.

Jim stops. Listens. But everything is silent.

It’s probably nothing. Rats in the walls, maybe. Whatever it is, it’s gone now. He turns again, takes a couple of steps towards the door –

tap tap tap

That’s not nothing. Once is a chance, twice is a coincidence – and Jim doesn’t believe in coincidences. No good cop does.

He puts down the backpack and the pillow on the floor, and draws his gun as he walks further into the house, just to be safe. He opens the doors as he passes them; a closet, the master bedroom. At the very end of the hallway, next to the back entrance, there is another door. As he stops before it and reaches for the handle, he almost jumps back when someone knocks on it from the other side. Bewildered, and since his hand is already raised, he knocks back.

Suddenly, a raspy voice comes from behind the door; “I’m sorry … sir. I won’t do it again, I swear. Just, let me out? Please.”

For a second, Jim just stares at the door. But as the voice keeps begging, he shakes himself out of his shock. He reaches for the handle again, but the door is locked.

He has never broken down a door that quickly in his life. It doesn’t even occur to him to try any of the keys that are on the keyring in his pocket – he just grabs onto the handle and pulls, pulls again, pulls, until finally the doorframe groans and there’s the sound of splintering wood, and the door flies open. Jim stumbles back with the force of it, ends up crashing against the opposite wall.

Behind the door is a narrow staircase, probably leading down to a cellar or basement. And at the very top of the stairs is the missing Billy Hargrove, huddling in on himself and blinking against the light. When Jim takes a step forward and reaches for him, he shies back.

“Hey,” Jim says, careful to keep his voice even, because something is not right here. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Besides, it looks like someone already has; the kid’s got a black eye – red and purple, with yellowing edges – and there are traces of dried blood under his nose.

“You’re not …” Billy says. Trails off. His eyes flicks to the badge on Jim’s chest. “What …?”

He sounds confused. Scared. And oh boy, Jim is not the right person to deal with this. But there is no one else around to do it.

Making sure to telegraph his movements, he holds out his hand, palm up. “Come on, son, let’s get you out of here.”

Billy leans forward a bit, and glances out in the hallway. When he sees that it’s only him and Jim there, he hesitantly reaches out a hand, and lets Jim pull him to his feet. As soon as he’s standing, he sways, and Jim has to steady him with a hand on his shoulder. The kid flinches, but the alternative is to let him fall, so Jim keeps his hand where it is until he’s sure the kid will keep standing if he lets him go.

When he’s out of the darkness of the staircase, he looks worse. He’s pale, and holding himself as if he’s in pain. His eyes are unfocused, his hair’s a mess. His lips are chapped, and he keeps licking them.

No one has seen him since Saturday morning.

Has he been in here since then? Jim glances down the dark stairs, and feels cold all over at the implications. There are no lights on down there, so he can’t see far. Has the kid had food? Water?

The kid licks his lips again – nerves or thirst? – and Jim shakes himself out of his stupor. As gently as he can, he leads Billy through the house and into the kitchen, where he guides him into a chair by the kitchen table. He then turns to find a glass in one of the cupboards. He fills it with water from the tap, and places it in front of the kid, before backing up so he’s leaning his hip against the counter.

Billy stares at the glass for a second, but doesn’t make a move to touch it. Instead he swallows, and glances around the kitchen before letting his gaze land on Jim. “Where’s my dad? Or Susan?” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “Max?”

Oh God. For a second, Jim had forgotten about Neil Hargrove. The death of his father is not something he wants to dump on the kid right now, so to stall, he motions to the glass in front of him. “Drink that first,” he says. “And then tell me why you were locked in there.” Being the Chief of Police gives him some authority, and not a lot of (sober) people argue against him when he uses that voice. The kid certainly doesn’t.

Billy tentatively reaches for the glass, keeping his eye on Jim the whole time. When Jim doesn’t move, he lifts the glass to his lips. His hands are shaking. When he’s had a couple of sips, he lowers the glass and licks his lips, closes his eyes for a second. Takes a couple of deep breaths, before taking another drink.

He drinks like he already knows what to do when having gone without water for a while, Jim realizes with a jolt; to take small sips so he won’t choke on the water.

Jim doesn’t like that. Not at all.

When Billy has gotten halfway through the glass, Jim shifts his weight. It catches Billy’s attention, and he looks up, warily.

“Now,” Jim says, trying to sound and seem unthreatening. “Will you tell me what happened?”

 Billy shouldn’t have come home on Friday night. He’d been with Tommy and the guys at the quarry, drinking and messing around, and he got drunk. Too drunk. He should have stayed over at Tommy’s or something, but he didn’t. He went home. And in the morning, he was hungover enough not to notice – or care about – his dad’s bad mood. He must have said something – or not said something – because as soon as Susan left to drive Maxine to her little get-together, Neil had been on him. Pushing him up against a wall, growling in his face, jostling him. And Billy had been hungover, and had just forced down breakfast … so he threw up.

He threw up on his father’s shoes.

Neil was furious. He punched Billy square in the face before he had a chance to even attempt to apologize. Billy went down hard, and curled up on the floor to try to protect himself against his father’s kicks. He tried to tune out the angry words, and only succeeded because the ringing in his ears were louder. When the kicks stopped, Neil pulled him to his feet and dragged him down the hallway. Not towards his room, but towards the back of the house, where –

No.

“Wait,” Billy said, trying to dig his heels in. “Wait, no, I’m sorry …”

But Neil yanked him along, all the way to the cellar door. When they got there, he pushed Billy up against the wall while he fumbled to get the door open.

Billy’s eye throbbed, his ribs hurt, he had a stitch in his side. But the panic bubbling up his throat was worse. “Please, I’m sorry, I –“

The palm of Neil’s hand hit his face in a hard slap, and he snapped his mouth shut.

“I don’t want to hear another word out of you,” Neil growled, his finger pointing at Billy’s face. “You’ll stay in here until I let you out, and you’ll think long and hard about respect, and the way you constantly fail to show it. You hear me?”

Billy wet his lips. There would be no use arguing. “Yes sir.”

With that, Neil got the door open and all but threw Billy inside. He stumbled down the first couple of steps, and then lost his balance and tumbled down the rest of them. Something snapped in his side, his shoulder twisted painfully, and even though he threw his arms out to catch himself, he still managed to smack his chin on the floor and bite his tongue. He ended up in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, groaning in pain and tasting blood. He didn’t look up in time to see Neil close the door, but darkness descended upon him and he heard the click of the lock.

He took a couple of careful breaths and winced, trying to get up.

The cellar was small, and dark – there were no working lights down there, and they mainly used it for storage. He knew that the deck chairs were kept down here during the winter, but now, there were probably only the boxes of Christmas decorations and some of the things they still hadn’t unpacked after the move.

He hated places like this, and had actively avoided this particular room since they moved here. Billy didn’t like small spaces, and he didn’t like the dark. Neil knew that, which was why it was such an effective punishment. Billy hadn’t been locked in here before; hadn’t been locked in anywhere but his room since they moved to Hawkins, but back in California one of Neil’s favorite punishments had been to lock Billy in the closet for a couple of hours after an altercation like this.

When Billy was young, he used to cry and bang on the door, begging to be let out. He learned soon enough that it only got worse if he did that; that Neil would open the door, smack him around some more, and then lock him in there again, but for longer this time.

Nowadays, he kept his head down, kept his mouth shut, and simply waited for Neil to let him out.

It usually lasted a couple of hours. One time, after he’d backed the Camaro into the back of Neil’s truck, he’d been in the closet for a whole day. Billy didn’t know if throwing up on the man was a worse offense than that, but he guessed he would have to wait and see.

And wait he did.

He heard Neil stomp around in the house, and then he heard the front door open and close, and Susan and Neil’s voices. After a while, he heard the front door slam shut again. After that, it got quiet. Real quiet. He’d hear the occasional scurrying or scratching of rats, which made him shudder in the darkness, but nothing else.

Time passed. He couldn’t tell how long. He sat on the second to last step on the stairs and did inventory of himself. He was pretty sure he had the beginnings of a black eye, from that first punch, and his nose was bleeding. Or, rather, it had been – he used the sleeve of his shirt to staunch the bleeding, and had gotten it to stop. His shoulder hurt, his chin hurt, and he didn’t want to imagine the bruises on his stomach and side. His torso ached, but besides a persistent twinge at his side, it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. So, nothing was probably broken.

He spent a long time on the bottom of those stairs. No one came for him, and the house remained silent. After a while longer, which must have been hours, he walked up the stairs. Put his ear against the door. Listened. Still nothing.

He really needed to use the bathroom. If no one was home, maybe he could sneak out and to the bathroom, and back again before Neil came back? No one had to know. He reached out for the door handle, holding his breath … but the door was locked.

He could break it down. It was just a door, and Billy could probably break it open with a couple of good slams of his unbruised shoulder. But Neil would know. And Billy would be punished worse for it, somehow. It was safer to just stay where he was, for now. Wait it out.

A while later, he felt his way through a couple of cardboard boxes, and found something resembling a plastic bowl under some fabrics. He used that to piss in, and put it in the corner furthest from the bottom of the stairs.

Neil didn’t come for him. The house was quiet when Billy curled up on the floor and tried to sleep.

It continued to be quiet when he woke up, too. No one came for him.

 “That’s …”

Jim doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. Fucked up, he wants to say, but as that seems pretty unprofessional – not to mention insensitive – he keeps his mouth shut. Lets the sentence taper off into nothing. Billy doesn’t seem to notice, instead draining the last water from the glass in his shaking hands.

“Do you need medical attention?” Jim regrets the question as soon as it’s out of his mouth, because despite the kid’s battered appearance and the way he holds himself, he’s already shaking his head. “Never mind that, kid, I’m taking you to the hospital.” When it looks like the kid is going to protest, he adds, “No objections.”

Billy’s mouth snaps shut. It shouldn’t make Jim feel so queasy.

He gets the kid into the front seat of his car and then has to go back for the backpack and pillow for Max. He throws the stuff into the backseat, gets in behind the wheel and makes sure Billy’s seatbelt is on before he starts the car and backs out of the driveway.

The kid isn’t looking at him. Jim’s not looking at him either – he has to keep his eyes on the road, after all – and perhaps it’s cowardly of him, but he uses this time when he doesn’t have to look Billy in the eye, to tell him about what happened on Saturday. How Billy’s father and step-mother were in an accident, a couple of days back. That Susan is at the hospital and probably will recover, but that Neil …

“I’m sorry, son, but he passed at the scene.”

Silence follows his words. Jim desperately wants to clear his throat or something, but it feels wrong to make a sound right now. A minute passes. The kid is quiet – too quiet – and when Jim finally gives in and glances over, he catches a glimpse of Billy’s face and hurries to turn his attention back on the road.

Billy is looking out through the window, holding an arm against his ribs, with silent tears running down his cheeks.

Jim doesn’t know what to say to that. Doesn’t know how to make it better. So he doesn’t say anything.

The rest of the trip is made in silence.

 Later, when Jim has dropped Billy off at the hospital and made sure he’s taken care of – when he has briefed the doctors, awkwardly patted the kid on his shoulder, and called Joyce to ask her to bring Max to the hospital – he returns to the Hargrove-Mayfield house.

He walks through the hallway, to the cellar door that is still open the way he left it. He has to go back to his car for a flashlight when he discovers that there’s no working lamps down there, but once he comes back with a flashlight in his hands, he walks down the stairs, and his blood is boiling in his veins at what he sees.

It’s a small space, with cardboard boxes lining two walls. The floor is dirty concrete, with some dark stains that Jim suspects to be blood. The place smells, since the kid seemingly had to use an old plastic container, shoved into the furthest corner, as a toilet.

Next to the stairs, there’s a messy bundle of old curtains. Jim realizes that the kid must have slept there – on the floor, wrapped in whatever he could find in the boxes – and he has to sit down on the bottom of the stairs and grit his teeth against the urge to scream.

He wishes he had known. He wishes he had told his deputies to go inside days ago, and search the house. He wishes he had paid more attention months ago, so that he could have helped the kid before it came to this.

But most of all, he wishes that he could somehow bring Neil Hargrove back to life, just to get the pleasure to wring the man’s neck himself.

[house-of-galathynius]

Dawn

Rowaelin Month, Day 5: A Trip to the Hospital @rowaelinscourt 

Words: 2.1k

I promise that nothing bad will happen to either of them in any of the Rowaelin month fics... I’ll actually be nice for once! 

Warnings: None

~~~

Aelin should have been used to the constant stream of injured people, the cries of pain and the sobs of family members. She should have been used to the long days and nights working non-stop to try and help as many people as she could… but there was something about today. 

It was her third night shift in a row and she was running on coffee, canteen food and about five hours sleep. She hadn’t even managed to get home at the end of her previous shift, instead crawling into the beds reserved for the doctors working in A&E. 

Before she had found sleep she had sent a text to Rowan telling him she would be at the hospital and she’d see him tomorrow. He’d responded with an I love you, be safe and she had promptly fallen asleep. It had felt like mere minutes when she was rudely awoken by the alarm on her phone and then another doctor telling her to turn that shit off. 

Four hours later it was coming onto two o’clock in the morning and she was frantically chugging an energy drink and giving herself a breather as the first lull of the evening came and she was finally able to take a breath. 

“You look like death, Galathynius.” One of the nurses chuckled as they took their seat at the computer. 

Aelin grinned. “Nothing like three night shifts in a row. I think my body is ninety percent coffee and vending machine chocolate at this point.” 

The nurse laughed and shook their head. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we have three people about to arrive in ambulances. Car accident.” 

Aelin groaned. She loved her job, she really did. But there were times when she wished she had chosen the GP route— sitting in an office all day just seeing to old people and babies all day. 

“How bad?’ 

The nurse scanned the screen and made a face that indicated it was bad. Bad enough that two of the doctors who were on-call came sauntering in and paused beside her. 

“Three patients. Two male, one female. Looks like a head on collision— two patients in relatively stable conditions, the third is touch and go. I’ve called surgery to prep a room in case.” They all nodded and Aelin felt her heart sink. 

There was a commotion behind them and Aelin turned to see the drunk woman who she had just managed to calm down, trying to rip the IV from her arm and stumble about her bed, knocking over a chair and then cursing loudly. Aelin rolled her eyes and went over to her. 

“Mrs Hartly—“ Aelin gripped her arm and lifted the woman up, taking her weight. “I need you to get back into bed. The medication needs some time to work. I promise you can go home soon.”  She said gently. 

“I—“ Mrs Hartly slurred, “I need,” she coughed loudly and held a hand to her mouth as Aelin managed to anticipate the vomit that was about to come out— grabbing a bowl in the nick of time. 

“Let’s get you back into bed.” 

As she helped her patient into bed, there was a rush of feet and shouting behind her and she managed to catch site of three gurneys being wheeled in, one of them going straight through to the main hospital, the second and third being taken into the spare spot in the corner and the curtain promptly closed. She needed to get over to them. 

“You have very pretty eyes, did ya know that?” Mrs Hartley said. 

Aelin half smiled and continued to re-do the IV. “Thank you.” 

“I bet you have,” a hiccup, “aaall the boys chasin’ after you.”

Aelin didn’t reply as she checked over her vitals one last time. 

“Do ya have someone waiting for ya?” 

She sighed, “I have a husband.” 

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be settlin’ down. When I was—“ Mrs Hartly’s head went into the bowl and Aelin just rubbed circles on her back as she got it out. Her attention going to the corner bed where the excitement was. When the patient was finally finished and was half asleep in the bed, she closed the curtain part the way and went over to the nurses station to get an update. 

The nurse from earlier was scribbling away on a notepad and when she noticed Aelin, her eyes went wide. 

“Aelin.” 

She responded with a smile. “Do they need help?” 

“Actually…” The nurse swallowed. 

Aelin was losing patience. It was late, she was tired and she didn’t have time for nurses who didn’t know what they were doing. She had always prided herself on being the kind and understanding doctor, but right now she needed something interesting and challenging to ensure she didn’t just sit down and fall asleep against a wall. 

“What is it? I don’t really have time—“ 

“It’s your husband.” 

Aelin froze. 

“We just got confirmation of the identities.” 

Aelin’s heart sped up and she could feel the room begin to spin. “Where is he?” 

The nurse handed Aelin the chart. “He’s been taken to the operating theatre. They suspect internal bleeding and some broken bones. He regained consciousness for a moment in the ambulance,” 

“Can they manage without me?” Aelin said sternly, gesturing to the corner where the other two patients were being seen to. 

The nurse nodded. 

“Which operating room?” 

“Three. They told me not to let you go in…” 

Aelin laughed hollowly, “they can go to hell.” 

She ran through the doors into the hospital and followed the signs down to the operating theatres. Everything was quiet as she raced through the white, sterile halls. No one stopped her as she rammed through doors and finally came to an abrupt halt as the double doors to the operating room were before her.

“Aelin they’re doing what they can.” 

Vaughan stood before her, his large frame almost as tall as the doors. His arms were crossed across his chest and his face was harsh as he prevented her from moving further into the room. 

“I can help.” She said breathlessly. 

“You have vomit down your scrubs, you’re in shock and haven’t slept properly in three days. You’d be more of a hindrance in there.” 

She hadn’t noticed the vomit. “I need to do something. That’s my husband. I can’t just sit here.” Her words slightly choked. 

Vaughan seemed to ease his posture. “You can find a room and get it ready for when he’s out of theatre. And wait in there until it’s done.” 

Aelin tried to get a glance into the operating room, even as Vaughan ushered her back down the corridor and onto the ward. They walked in silence even though Aelin could swear her heart was beating loud enough to wake all the patients. Vaughan merely held his hand on her shoulder in an act of kindness and then walked away. 

She was left to find the only empty private room that was left and she busied herself preparing it for when Rowan would arrive. She must have made the bed and then remade it several times, shooing away anyone who tried to come in and help. When she had exhausted herself doing that, she turned to checking the machines and then to pacing by the window. 

She eventually curled herself into a chair and watched as the sun begun to turn the sky into the early morning purple hues, the stars blinking out one by one. Her stomach was doing flips as the time went on. No one seemed to come in to check on her… and no news was better than bad news. 

It wasn’t much longer until her eyes went droopy and her head fell into her arms. The hum of the machines lulling her into a sleep. 

“Aelin?” The soft voice spoke quietly beside her, a hand going to her shoulder to lightly wake her. “Aelin, you need to wake up.” 

Her eyes opened slowly and she blinked a few times, unsure of exactly where she was. The room was lighter now, the fluorescent bulbs shining harshly down on them and the sun high in the sky. She looked around the room quickly and then jolted from the chair. It only took her a moment to see the figure in the bed, and then only a moment after that to realise he was awake and smiling at her. 

“Rowan,” she breathed out.

“Hey.” He replied, his own voice raspy.

She tried to contain the sob that was creeping up on her. Even as he held out his hand to her and let her climb onto the bed next to him. 

“I’m sorry I scared you.” He whispered whilst placing a kiss on her head. 

“You are never allowed to drive again.” She cried out, tears escaping as she held onto him and buried her head in the crook of his arm. “How are you feeling?”

Rowan laughed lightly and then winced. Aelin immediately withdrew her head and then examined him, noticing the scratches on his face and the cast on his other arm. 

“I’m okay. It wasn’t as bad as they thought.” 

“I don’t— what were you doing out?”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “I was coming to you. I was bringing you proper food.” 

Aelin wanted to hit him. But she refrained due to the fact he was in a hospital bed. 

“You work so hard and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I guess I was just too tired and lost control of the car.” 

Aelin wanted to be annoyed, but he had her best interests at heart. So she squeezed his hand and said, “I promise that I will eat properly if it means you never get in a car at night again.” She half laughed. 

“You worry too much. I’m really fine.” 

She gave him an incredulous look, but relaxed a little. “Did they tell you what was wrong?” 

He nodded. “A few broken bones, they thought I had some internal bleeding but turns out I just passed out because of shock.” 

She pressed her head into his arm again and shook it lightly. “Jesus, Ro.”

“I’m fine. I’m still here, aren’t I?” 

She huffed. “They made it sound like you weren’t going to make it. Half of me was sure Vaughan was just distracting me until he could confirm the bad news.” 

Rowan laughed again, “they know what you’re like.” 

“I am only like this when it comes to you.” Her face dropped and she cleared her throat. “I don’t know what I would have done if—“ she couldn’t even finish the sentence. 

Rowan stroked a hand down her hair. “I’m right here, Fireheart. I’m not going anywhere.” He promised. 

“I want to go first. Okay?” She asked seriously. 

Rowan nodded, a smile breaking out. “When the time comes, we can go together. How about that?”

Aelin shook her head and moved away. “I’m being deadly serious. I cannot live in this world without you.” 

Rowan smiled gently. “I’m being serious too.” 

Aelin gave him a look. 

“I promise you, Aelin, that I will let you go before I do. Even though the thought of it fills me with utter despair.” 

She met his gaze and then wiped a tear from her face. “I love you, Rowan. More than anything in this entire world. You are literally my everything and I am begging you to take care of yourself.”

Rowan’s face softened and wrapped his arm around her. “I love you, too. I’m sorry I scared you.” He left a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m sorry.” 

“I can’t lose you.” She whispered. 

“I know. You won’t. I’ll be here until we’re old and grey and we’re sitting on our porch complaining about the youth of the day” 

She laughed, the weight of worry lifting from her slightly more. “Our children will be telling us off as we do.” 

Rowan kissed her again and she gently lowered herself further into his embrace. “They’ll be so embarrassed of us.” 

Aelin laughed. “Exactly how I plan it to be.” 

They fell into silence and Aelin was more than grateful to feel the rise and fall of his chest and the warmth in his body. She couldn’t bare to part from him, even as a new doctor came in to do some checks and informed them that he would be fine to go home tomorrow. 

And even as they both fell in and out of sleep, their hands remained entwined and Aelin’s head tucked into the crook of his neck. There was nowhere else she would rather be than in the arms of the man she loved. She would relish this feeling for her entire life and be thankful to whatever Gods were out there, that they had protected her soulmate— granting her the time she so desperately wanted with him. 

~~~

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